


Collaboration

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Air Force, Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Character, Big Brother Dean, Catholic Character, Catholic School, Closeted Character, Drunken Kissing, Fluff and Angst, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Dean, M/M, Military Backstory, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pilot Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Castiel, Prompt Fill, Self-Denial, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Teacher Castiel, Trans Character, lgbtqa+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 62,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a counselor on staff at an LGBTQA+ kids' center, and Castiel is a teacher at a nearby private Catholic school. Because of the work he does, Castiel's coworkers see Sam as an abomination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for lovely Nonny Mouse!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's job puts him at odds with a local religious school leader. When he goes to confront him, he finds that he's out of the office temporarily, and there is an open-minded teacher in his place.

When Sam looked up from his paperwork, he was shocked to find that the commotion outside his office was coming from a very irritated Dean Winchester, gripping the arms of two teenage girls. When his glass door flew open, the girls were deposited inside roughly.

"Dean! What are you doing?"

His brother growled. "Saving some prick named Ansem from getting the hell beaten out of him. And keeping these two from getting themselves a juvie record!"

That didn't really answer the question.

"Dean?"

"The stupid kid had something to say, apparently, and these two seemed to think he would look better with his lungs coming out his mouth. Not saying I don't agree. Just saying it wasn't worth the trouble they were headed for."

Sam sighed and looked down at the girls expectantly. "Krissy? Would you like to introduce me to your friend and tell me the story?"

"I'm going back to work. I can't spend all day keeping her ass out of trouble."

Krissy flipped Dean off on his way out. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at his brother. Sam sighed. "Krissy?"

"We were walking past Mr. Singer's place, and that stupid Ansem jerk started shouting crap at Lily, and I almost had to kill him when he grabbed her arm."

The blond girl's eyes were low. "It isn't that big a deal, Kris. Guys say stuff all the time. You can't go full throttle on every guy that has something to say about me."

Krissy's eyes flashed in anger. "Watch me."

Lily sighed. "I'm sorry for the trouble," she murmured.

Sam nodded. "It's all right, Lily. We're here to help. Kris hangs out here a lot after school. We would love to have you join us sometimes. It's just a safe place to be where you can get any help you might need. The staff and volunteers are all here to provide advice and support, help you find resources and just be here to listen. It's a safe place," he said again.

She nodded quietly. "I used to be Leo," she whispered.

"Okay."

She watched him carefully. "I was never Leo. I was always Lily. But people called me Leo because it used to be my name."

"I think Lily is a beautiful name," Sam said.

For the first time, the girl produced a smile, shy and cautious. "Thank you," she murmured.

Krissy huffed. "Well and good, Sam, but that guy from the Catholic school across the street is still trying to mess with her. Lily and me have-"

"Lily and I," Sam corrected quietly.

To their surprise, Lily burst into laughter, even as a tear slid down her face. "That's the first time I've known somebody to correct a pronoun that wasn't gendered in front of a trans kid."

Sam smiled at her. "Go on, Kris."

Krissy gave her friend a look, then continued. "Lily and I have been friends since we were like fetuses or something. She moved away for a while, and just moved back to town. She's my best friend, Sam. I'm not going to be able to not knock the shit out of Ansem if he messes with her again."

He heaved a sigh. "Okay. Krissy, why don't you give Lily a tour? You said this Ansem kid goes to St. Benedict's?"

"Yeah. Holier than thou ass-"

"Thank you, Krissy. Look. There are people out there who will never understand folks who aren't what they expect them to be. They can't accept something they can't understand. Fortunately, we don't need them to. It would be easier. But it isn't necessary. We will never be able to understand people who hate anymore than they understand people who love or identify differently. On the other hand, there are some things we can do that don't resort to violence, to get this kid to back off. You two stay here for a bit, and cool down. We are open till nine, Lily. Do you need to call family or anyone?"

She shook her head. "They won't care where I am," she muttered.

He gave her a sympathetic smile at that. "Good. Kris can introduce you to some of the others who hang out. I'm going to take a walk."

The girls headed out from his office, to explore the rest of the community center.

Sam sighed heavily. It was past time he had a chat with the headmaster over at that private school.

***

Castiel smiled tightly and gestured a dismissal to Hester and Rachel. The women glanced at one another and stepped out of the office. The afternoon was wearing into evening, and he was getting tired.

Why was he doing this? He had been so much happier back when he was just a teacher. Taking on administrative duties had forced him down to just two classes a day instead of five, and it had not been worth it at all. There was extra pay, and he had more say in what went on at the school, but he missed teaching all day. And dealing with employees was not his strong suit.

He was just about to shut down his computer when a smart knock came on his door. He closed his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, come in," he said a bit too sharply.

The door opened like it had been blown apart, and a giant of a man stepped in with a purpose. Castiel was glad he was already standing.

"Can I help you?" he snapped.

"Are you Michael Arch?"

A dark brow lifted in irritation. "No. He's out for a few weeks. You can try him again-"

"Then who's in charge of these kids?"

Castiel bit back his temper. Michael would not approve of his anger, nor would Father Raphael. He took a breath. "I suppose I am for the moment. How can I help you?"

"And who are you?"

"I'm Castiel Spanner. I'm the assistant director to the headmaster. I'm a teacher," he added, though that hardly seemed to matter to anyone but him these days.

"Mr. Spanner, I've spoken to Mr. Arch on several occasions over the phone, and I thought we had reached some kind of understanding about interactions between kids at St. Benedict's and kids who seek support from Triad. I suppose I thought wrong?"

The teacher blinked. "Triad?" He hated admitting this, since it was obviously important. "I'm sorry. I don't know what we're talking about."

The man rolled his eyes in annoyance. "And why doesn't that surprise me at all? It's the LGBTQ community center right across the street. Unbelievable. Those kids are either invisible or a menace to you people."

This time, Castiel's eyebrows shot up, and his temper snuck out. "I beg your pardon. How much do you appreciate being lumped in with an entire section of society as 'you people?'" he barked. "Do you teach your kids to view every Catholic as a hateful person?"

"Of course not!"

"Then don't presume to know what I teach my students, or what I value myself! You have no right! I don't know you and you certainly know nothing about me."

The man opened his mouth, then stopped whatever was coming out. He stared Castiel down for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "All right. That was inappropriate. I apologize. But I hope you can understand my frustration. The location of a safe sanctuary directly across from what is meant to be a school teaching about forgiveness, and a savior who believes in helping and not subjugating those with less power, is becoming a nightmare. These kids aren't hurting anyone. They just want someplace where they can be themselves without apologizing for it. And it seems like every week, I'm dealing with another kid being bullied by a student at St. Benedict. So forgive me if I jump to conclusions about the curriculum over here."

Castiel sat and gestured to the chair across from his desk. He sighed. "Let's begin again. My name is Castiel Spanner. I'm a teacher here at St. Benedict. I'm relatively new to the area. I've recently taken on the position of assistant director. I'm supervising the school while Michael Arch, our headmaster, is out at a conference retreat. If there are concerns about troubling behavior from my students, even if you have spoken to Michael about it in the past, it is news to me. So please. Educate me."

The man lowered himself to the chair, and a small smile crept onto his face. Now that he wasn't towering over him in a fit of rage, Castiel could see that he was actually fairly young, perhaps late twenties, and quite good looking. "I'm Sam Winchester. I'm the counselor and community resource contact for Triad."

The teacher smiled back. "Okay. Tell me what's going on, and we will see what we can do to improve the situation."

They spoke for over an hour. At first, Sam reviewed recent incidents, while Castiel listened carefully. When names of students were available, he jotted them down on his notebook, but said nothing. Then Sam revealed the extent to which he had tried enlisting Michael's help in correcting the situation. Castiel's frown deepened until he was practically cringing.

It was no wonder Sam had burst in the door the way he did.

At last, Castiel spoke, and it carried the same tone as Sam's. He began to craft changes that St. Benedict's could make to foster understanding.

"A bit of tolerance isn't too much to ask," Sam murmured bitterly.

"Tolerance is not at all what you need to be demanding, Sam. Tolerance? That indicates that your kids have done something wrong, but my students should tolerate them anyway. Empathy is what we need to grow in our students. Perhaps on both ends," he suggested pointedly.

"Perhaps," Sam agreed with reluctance.

"I've got several ideas of what the teachers can be doing better on our end. But I'd like to propose a joint activity."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"A common goal. It is hard to despise someone who is fighting for the same thing you are."

"What are you suggesting?"

"The students here are required to do organized volunteerism each year. I have been placed in charge of that endeavor. I wonder if we might come up with a simple cause to tackle together. Your kids and mine, after school. Your kids come from all over the city, I assume."

"Yeah. We get them from their high schools if they have no other way to get to us."

"Excellent. The point of volunteerism is to force oneself out of a selfish mindset, to realize there are problems other than one's own, and to empower one to help solve them. What sort of issue do you think your kids could identify with which does not directly affect them?"

"Something not quite so rainbow, you mean?"

Castiel looked up, fearing he had been misunderstood, that Sam was offended. But the man was grinning. So he smiled too. "And a touch less incense and scripture," he added.

Sam laughed. "Animals or art. Without a doubt. These are kids who are told not to express themselves their whole lives, to hide their true voices. Art is a sanctuary for many of them. And animals..."

"Are more kind and less judgmental than people."

He nodded slowly. "You do get it."

"More than you might imagine," Castiel responded without meeting the man's eyes. Before Sam could reply, he nodded curtly. "All right. Benedict isn't without its own talents. I propose we do a joint fundraiser for a local animal shelter in the form of a gallery auction."

The smile on Sam's face was blinding. "I love that."

"Good. My kids will be required to participate somehow, but yours...they'll be doing it only if they want to. Do you think you can get enough interest?"

Sam laughed as if he knew something Castiel did not know. "Yeah," he breathed. "You say when, where and what, and you'll have more help than you need." He handed the teacher a business card. "My office number is on there, but..." He retrieved a pen from the desk, and scribbled on the back of the card. "That's my cell. In case you'd like to call after hours, or text."

A lifetime of wearing a mask was enough to keep him from blushing. "Thank you," Castiel said with a smile. "That might be very helpful."

Sam watched him for a moment, then nodded and stood. "Right. Well, my email is there too. Let me know what you're thinking, and we are on board."

"Of course. It's good to meet you, Sam."

The old wooden door closed behind the giant man, and Castiel sat back in his chair with a soft sigh.

***

Luke hated the idea immediately. "Sam, I grew up with Michael Arch. He's a rigid ass. I'm not participating in any venture that includes him. If I'd known who the headmaster at that place was, I'd have never taken this job so close."

"This has nothing to do with you and Michael," Sam said firmly. Other staff might secretly call him Lucifer, but Sam was not afraid of him.

"It always comes down to me and Michael."

"No," Sam corrected. "What we do is for the kids. And I'm telling you, this is an excellent opportunity to help these kids see one another as humans instead of enemies."

"Michael's little angels will never see our kids as anything but demons, and that's a fact. Their priest once called me the Devil for what I do over here."

"Luke, we're doing this. I'm not asking permission. I'm just letting you know. Mr. Spanner and I have already set a date."

Luke snarled. "Oh? And how do you think Michael is going to feel about his little spanner in the works setting a date with the gay guy across the street?"

"Don't be a great big bag of dicks," a voice called merrily as a well-dressed man entered the office.

An audible growl emitted from Luke's throat. "Gabriel."

Sam frowned. "I'm Sam Winchester," he offered quickly.

"At ease, Sam. Name's Gabriel Arch."

The younger man glanced at Luke. "Arch?"

"Funny thing about that name," Gabriel sighed as he helped himself to a chair and crossed his ankles with his heels raised to the desk. "Seems like it's recognized no matter where I go."

"Could be because your family owns half the town," Luke snapped.

"Is it only half now?" Gabriel mused. "I'll have to look over my accounts."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Arch?" Sam asked quietly.

"Oh, there's very little you can do for me, Sam. I'm not really in need of anything I can't get for myself. Just came by to say an employee of my brother's has come to me with a project that he obviously didn't want to run past Michael first."

Luke put his hand up. "You can stop there. We aren't partnering for anything. I've corrected Sam about the mutual policy of ignoring the place of business across the street. You can go back to pretending we don't exist, and we will go back to wishing you didn't."

Gabriel began to laugh. "Wow. Just...wow. I'd slow clap but I just got my nails done. Old Lucifer playing the victim again. Get new material, man. Nobody's fault but your own you ain't an Arch anymore, buddy. You know that."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Luke's not a-"

"Oh, but he was. Or should I say he could be."

"Shut up, Gabriel. You got no right to tell my story."

Gabriel shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm not here to talk to you. I'm here to talk to Sam."

"I won't-"

"Goodbye, Luke!" Gabriel said firmly.

Luke lifted his finger to point it at the other man's chest. "You do anything to screw up this center, you stab me in the back like that, and I will end you, Gabriel. Don't forget who taught you every trick you know."

Gabriel raised his palms in mock fear, and watched Luke storm from the office. The door slammed behind him.

Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Arch, I don't..."

"Forget him. He's a bitter brat. I'm here to say I love the charity art auction idea, and I'm willing to donate the space for it at my gallery on Lawrence Street. Your kids and Spanner's students produce the art, and I'll get my people there to view and buy."

"Really? But...why?"

"It'll piss off my brother mostly," he said with a wink. "Also I like dogs, got mine from a local shelter. And I have never enjoyed the bad blood between Luke and Mikey. They're both powerful men in this town. It would be nice for folks to see them working together for a change."

"Well, whatever the reason, that's great! An actual gallery for the auction would go a long way toward ensuring its success."

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Luke will come if his kids are there, I guess," he said with practiced nonchalance.

"I imagine he will. He will want to watch over his kids to make sure they're safe."

"Control freak to the last," Gabriel complained.

"Is there a history I need to know?" Sam asked quietly.

"Luke's right. His ain't my story to tell. But my story is fair game, and my story is that the bastard was my step-brother and best friend for my whole life, and when he came out as gay, and I wanted to date him, Michael went crazy, called him a bad influence, said he had corrupted me. Apparently I never would have been bisexual if Luke hadn't come along to ruin me. Luke left the family. I wanted him to marry me, but he didn't love me as much as he hated Michael. So he was an Arch for a few years, then he was offered the chance to be one again. He declined. The end."

"That's awful."

Gabriel smiled, but Sam could see the pain behind his eyes. "Yeah. Well, I tried to convince him to marry me for my money. Told him he could use it for whatever he wanted. And Luke likes money. More than he likes me, but not enough to be with me for it."

Sam cringed.

He laughed weakly. "That was years ago. No big deal now. It's just an extra cherry on top if my involvement in this little hippie experiment of yours and Spanner's ends up pissing off both Luke and Michael. Call that a secondary goal."

"And Michael would hate that you told me that story," Sam guessed.

"Oh yeah. Definitely. Michael is the type who would gum up marriage equality laws in the whole state just so he wouldn't have to live with the indignity that comes with his brother marrying a dude."

"I'm so sorry," Sam murmured.

Gabriel watched him for a moment, with an expression between surprise and amusement. "Thank you. But like I said, there's nothing I need that I can't get for myself. I'm Gabriel Arch, after all." Then he grinned and stood. "I'll be in contact with Spanner about dates." He stopped at the door a moment, then looked at him again. "Spanster thinks you're hot, by the way."

Sam's mouth dropped open, and a warm blush crossed his face.

Gabriel laughed and before Sam could recover, the man had gone.

***


	2. Cyberstalking: A Memoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyberstalking: How NOT to start a relationship with a lawyer. 
> 
> OR
> 
> Cyberstalking: Why you should always make sure your posts aren't visible to strangers

Andy was agreeable, as always. Castiel liked him very much, could always depend on him to be helpful, if not entirely sober. “I’ll get on Ansem’s ass. He just likes to pretend he’s big and bad. He’s just a dumbass. I’ll threaten to expose his gay fan fiction obsession if he doesn’t stop giving the actual gay kids a hard time.”

It was difficult not to smile, but Castiel managed. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, then.”

“Sure. I’m pretty good at convincing folks to do or not do something. Especially my dumb brother. Anything else I can do?”

He nodded. “Now that you mention it, I know you have a talent for murals.” The eyebrow went up.

Andy laughed nervously. “Uh…”

“Perhaps you could use that talent for good instead of evil.” He explained the project he was spearheading.

Andy relaxed when he found out he was not going to get in trouble for creating a large portrait of a polar bear and a warrior woman on the wall of the school that had been scheduled for repainting the next day. “That’s awesome. I’m in. Totally. I’ll get Ava and some of the other artsy kids into it. Jake would be a good one to ask about getting kids like Max and a few of the others in on it. You know what? I’ll get Ava to start a task force team. It’ll be awesome. And it would irritate Ansem, because he’s in love with Ava. I got this, sir. Leave it to me. You’ll have a small army by the end of the week, with chairpeople and stuff.”

Castiel sighed happily. “I knew you were the right one to ask, Andy.”

“Like I said,” the boy laughed, “I’m pretty good at getting folks to do what I want them to, and making them think it’s their idea. And this is an awesome project. Just email me everything you want to see happen, and I’ll get it going.”

“There’s a reason you’re my favorite.”

Andy shrugged. “I am kind of awesome.”

Castiel looked at his phone for a long time after Andy left his office. His finger slid over Sam’s name, then he hurried forward before he had time to think. He tapped, then hit send as soon as it was finished. “A student I trust is getting things rolling here, and I will hit the faculty with it tomorrow at our morning meeting. I suggest you find a student on your end to act as the point of contact for your group. Then we can get the two of them collaborating.”

It was a long text. Castiel liked texting. It kept him from having to talk to people. But he thought he might like talking to Sam. On the other hand, just sending a text message had given him a bout of social anxiety. Trying to speak to the man sounded like the worst idea he’d had all day. He wished he could just listen to Sam speak without having to speak back.

That was when he realized that he was searching for Sam’s name on the internet. He sighed. “And this is the day I lost all semblance of dignity and became a cyberstalker. April 13. Remember this day, Spanner. One day you’ll wonder when it was you lost your mind.”

He found a social media page with the man’s name and a professional photo on it. He clicked, and saw the current status, under the screen name MooseCallsShotgun. “Met a forward thinker yesterday afternoon that restored my hope for humanity. Didn’t hurt that he was darn cute, with great eyes and an incredible voice. Ya’ll know how I get about voices. Too bad he’s not one of the family.”

Castiel closed the window. Then he closed the laptop. Then he stepped away from his desk, as though the laptop might fly open at any moment. He watched it suspiciously.

“Who puts things like that on a forum where strangers can read it?” he demanded of the silence around him. “Who does that?”

Someone who doesn’t have to worry about losing his job because he’s attracted to men. Someone who is comfortable in his own skin. Someone who can say “the family” and mean the gay community, and no one asks uncomfortable, potentially dangerous questions.

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped at the silent room.

He opened the laptop and reopened his closed window. He wished he didn’t know how to do that. If he had to search again, he would have time to talk himself out of it. But there it was, in a flush of keystrokes. Sam Winchester’s status. “Ya’ll know how I get about voices. Too bad he’s not one of the family.”

The teacher stared at the photo for far too long. Sam’s confident smile and polished professional look was completely intimidating, and very attractive. His eyes strayed toward the status again, and he was able to see some of the comments. Others were blurred out, as though the users had disabled the option to let their comments be seen by people who were not logged in. But there were several that he could read.

Someone named Impala67 was advising Sam to “Cool your jets, tiger. You don’t need to go looking for trouble. You can’t turn the bad guys good for a weekend.”

The response to that was blocked out, but the next one was available. WiccanInYourPocket asked, “Sam, my dear, can I interest you in a love potion?”

Charjo agreed with Impala67. “Moosie, don’t go there. There are lots of beautiful gay men in the world. Stop falling for the straight ones.”

Sam had responded then. "Guys, I just said he was cute. I didn't say I was taking him home."

Impala67 had immediately replied with "That's what you said about the damn dog that still lives at my house because it needs a yard."

Castiel laughed.

Charjo: "Dean, Jo says Sam is sexy enough to turn the bad guys good for the weekend. I don't know how to feel about my girlfriend finding your brother sexy."

ColeT: "Just when you think it can't get any gayer."

Charjo: "We love you too, Cole."

ColeT: "4 wut is worth, bro, I think you're hot enough to turn a straight dude."

Impala67: "stop encouraging him!"

Garthed_IV: "It's all good in the hood, papa bear!"

Impala67: "I will hurt you."

Garthed_IV: "That's balls."

MooseCallsShotgun: "Thanks for another round of intelligent, thoughtful advice and support, everyone. Lunch break (aka time spent thinking about a pair of beautiful blues and a great voice) is over. Back to saving the world."

Impala67: "God, you're full of yourself. Call when you get out of work."

MooseCallsShotgun: "Yes, papa bear."

Garthed_IV: "LOL."

Castiel found himself staring at the comment thread another ten minutes, forming an image in his mind of each participant, and gleaning as much from it all as he could. Impala67 was named Dean, and was Sam's brother. Sam liked dogs, and his brother was both protective and indulgent, based on the comment about keeping Sam's dog at his house so it would be happier. That probably meant Sam lived in an apartment. Charjo might be a screen name for two people, a lesbian couple, perhaps? Sam had fallen for a straight guy at least once, and likely recently. ColeT was straight, but obviously comfortable joking with the rest of them. That line about bad guys...it sounded almost like a quotation, didn't it? And beautiful blues...voice? Could he possibly mean him? He had been complimented on both his eyes and voice in the past. Could he mean him?!

Now he was definitely a stalker.

Castiel heaved a sigh and closed the laptop again. This was ridiculous. He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not cyberstalk potential life partners.  
> Leave comments for authors instead. :)


	3. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fair play.

"So? What, you're turning your kids Catholic now?" Dean tossed a plate with a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich in front of his brother.

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Just like Castiel is going to turn all his kids gay for this project. It’ll be a miracle. The pope would be so proud."

"Richie says the new pope doesn't suck."

"He's an improvement," Sam admitted. "This is really good."

"Yeah? There's this cool new thing you can do, called cooking your own meals, when you aren't at work from nine to nine six days a week. Might be worth checking out."

"Shut up." Sam patted Riot happily. "You work long hours too."

"Yeah, but I'm in fresh air and not sitting on my ass all day."

It was a conversation Sam had to sit through every time he hit Dean's before going home to bed. "I jog every morning."

"Good for you, Lance."

"Again, bicycling."

"Point is, it ain't natural or healthy to have as much stress as you got, to eat lunch at your desk, eat dinner from a drive through at nine thirty at night."

He sighed to himself. "I get salads at fast food places."

"At nine thirty!"

"And I do cook for myself. Breakfast."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "Blending a bunch of green stuff with yogurt doesn't count as cooking!"

"It's better than what you eat."

The green eyes narrowed. "Pop quiz, smartass. Which of the two of us knows what a heart attack feels like?"

The younger man put his sandwich down and sat back. "That was an extreme case. You got yourself electrocuted, jerk."

"Bitch." Dean lifted his beer bottle to his lips. "Point is, I know how that feels, and I never want you to go through that. You're on contract for a forty hour week. At least take a lunch. And our daily powwow online doesn't count."

So when he sat down to put up his status to start the conversation the next day at noon, he smiled to himself. "Wow. What an amazing morning. Organic, gluten-free power shake, half-marathon, and still at work on time to sit on my ass all day. I bet my brother wishes he were this amazing."

He sat back to watch the comments roll in, and stabbed at his grilled chicken salad with a smirk.

Charlie's icon image of Princess Leia in a gold bikini straddling a twenty-sided die popped up first. "Heya, Sam. How are things going?"

"The project I told you about is up and running. My kids are getting really into it. I'll email you the dates and times, etc., so you can build that page for us. Thx for that BTW."

"Yup! Happy to be doing good works."

"Roman isn't going to fire you when he catches you doing this from your desk, is he?"

"Please. I'm irreplaceable. He says it annoys him that I can't be cloned."

Sam opened a second browser while they chatted. He didn't plan to admit it, but Dean was right about one thing. He was going to try to get better about relaxing during his lunch each day. Every morning, he spent three hours contacting area schools and places of employment to assist with problems and questions about creating a safe and healthy environments for LGBTQ constituents. He often spent his mornings giving presentations on tolerance (which he would now be replacing with the word empathy) for various groups and organizations. Afternoons were spent exploring legal issues which could potentially affect young kids, or giving legal advice to people in the community who were facing discrimination due to their identity or orientation. When the kids showed up after school, he played the role of counselor and mentor. Even though he was not expected to do so, he very often stayed until the center closed at nine, to be available for any kids, staff or volunteers who might need him. Then he was often there by ten on Saturday mornings to help out with things and check on the kids’ activities, and frequently stayed until close again.

He deserved a lunch break.

So what if he used his lunch break to search online for a certain pair of blue eyes? It was his lunch break, and he could pine from afar over anybody he wanted to.

Dean popped up on the comment thread with “Blow me, jackass,” as his response to the status.

Sam laughed. “Oh, Dean,” he said aloud. “You really shouldn’t open yourself up to gay jokes like that, you poor straight man.” He refrained from taking the bait, however, because he tried to keep in mind that they were on a semi-public forum.

The search for Castiel Spanner revealed very little, but there was an archived faculty photo of him at a university about two hours east of Boston. Interesting. So the guy used to be a post-secondary professor. What was he doing slumming over at Benedict’s?

Charjo was now being commanded by Jo Harvelle, and she and Dean were arguing about last weekend’s pre-season game. Charlie worked from home almost as often as she went into the office, and Jo worked evenings at the roadhouse, so they got online together about half the time. But it was perfectly easy to tell who was typing at the moment. Cole slid into the conversation seamlessly.

Normally, Sam’s legendary reputation in their fantasy football league mandated that he pay attention to talk like this, but he was too busy sifting through search results. At last, he came across something both vague and intriguing.

 There was a Castiel Spanner, in Worcester, Massachusetts, who had graduated from The College of the Holy Cross in 2000-and really, how many Castiel Spanners in Massachusetts could there be?-who had been given an honorable discharge from the military at the age of thirty.

He began to piece together Castiel’s life from the bits he had found. He graduated with a degree in history and a second in religious studies at some Jesuit college in New England. Then he had entered the Air Force, and left it with the rank of First Lieutenant to go teach military history at Amherst College in Massachusetts. Somehow, according to St. Benedict’s, he had found his way to this town to teach history of religions almost two years ago.

There seemed to be nothing else available on the man.

Sam glanced back at the comment thread, which had been buzzing along without him. He grinned when he saw that the screen name APProphetSolo had joined them. “Hey, Kev!” he typed. “How are classes?”

“Freaking hard,” came the response.

 “Poor baby,” Charjo teased. “Need cupcakes sent to your dorm?” Obviously Charlie.

“Yes. Living on hotdogs and beer right now.”

Sam watched the thread continue, then found himself stealing glances at the picture on his desktop. Castiel was a few years younger in that photo, but not much had changed. He was still unfairly handsome.

His hands flew to the keyboard. “Cole, you there?”

“I’m here, Sammy.”

“If a guy got an honorable discharge as a lieutenant what might that mean?”

“Could be any number of things, bro. My buddy Kit got one recently, because he was injured. What branch?”

“Air Force, I think.”

Cole paused, then his response came, amongst chatter from the others in the group. “Look, honorable discharge pretty much just means not dishonorable. Means he didn’t do anything wrong, but he was done. Military isn’t prison, man. They let you leave when you filled your obligations.”

Sam resisted the urge to remind Cole that prisons also let you leave once you’ve fulfilled your obligations, but he didn’t feel like reading all the lawyer comments. “So it could be anything.”

“Pretty much. To get an honorable discharge, you gotta have an excellent record. When guys get injured, or they’ve just finished their tour, but they got excellent duty and conduct, they can leave under honorable discharge. Are we talking about some guy getting a blue ticket?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Thought blues weren’t honorable?”

“They aren’t. And it’s not supposed to be used for gay dudes anymore. If you find out a guy’s been blue ticketed and he thinks it’s because he’s gay, have him contact appeal, because that code has changed.”

Sam smiled. He liked how Cole was always thinking like an ally. He and Dean had butted heads long ago, but these days, they were practically in lockstep when it came to protecting their Sammy and everyone he cared about. In fact, Cole was one of the only humans on the planet, other than his brother, that he allowed to call him Sammy.

Charlie began berating Cole for his exclusive use of masculine pronouns, and Sam dropped out of the conversation again. Pronouns in general gave him a headache on a daily basis.

When he reached for his phone, it began buzzing, as if someone knew he was about to place a call. “Hey, Dean. I’m online, you know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go off on your ass in public.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Military? Catholic? Could you have picked a more conservative guy, Sammy?”

Sam swallowed, and tapped a pen against his desk absently. “I’m not-“

“Bullshit. This is Victor all over again.”

A spike of pain hit Sam’s chest, but he stubbornly refused to let it seep into his voice. “It’s nothing like Victor. Victor was…This isn’t like that.”

“So I’m right? Air Force guy is the Catholic teacher?”

“Yeah, but-“

Dean sighed heavily. “Dammit, Sammy! If you’re gonna have a type, why’s it gotta be straight guys? Why do you have to go after an impossible challenge no matter where you see one? Forget sitting around all day. That’s what’s going to give you a heart attack!”

“Dean! Stop! I’m partnering with this guy on a project. That’s all. I know he’s straight. You don’t have a shot at Carmen Electra either, but you don’t mind staring at her! Bobby isn’t going to end up with Bo Derek, but he’s happy to have her picture on his wall!”

Finally, he got a laugh out of his brother. “Don’t you ever tell Bobby he ain’t going to get Bo Derek. He’ll never speak to you again.”

“Right. So I got a crush on a conservative guy. Whatever. It’s no big deal. Stop going all big brother on me. I’m practically thirty years old.”

This sigh was less dramatic. “Okay. You’re right. I just don’t know why you ignore every guy that hits on you, and then I find out you’re after a guy like Victor. Or this guy, what’s his name?”

“I’m not telling you, because you’ll look him up.”

“Like you haven’t!”

“I’m the one with the impossible crush. I’m allowed to do that.”

“Crush,” Dean snorted. “Makes you sound like a teenage-“

“If you say girl, I swear to god, I’m coming to kick your ass.”

Dean cackled into the phone. “A virgin,” he corrected. “That’s what you sound like when you say that. A virgin.”

Sam was not about to go into why virgin should not be used as an insult any more than girl. Dean tried. He really did. “Whatever.”

“You coming over any this weekend?”

“I don’t know. Text me what you’re up to, and I’ll see if it’s worth having to see you.”

“Thanks, asshat.”

The phone clicked, and Sam chewed on his lip, turning toward the photograph of the thoughtful professor on his desktop. “Out of work early tonight. Can I buy you a coffee or dinner to chat things out?”

He sent it before he could change his mind, and waited.


	4. Dr. Esquire, PhD.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Sam visit the shelter their fundraiser will benefit.

If this wasn’t the worst idea he had ever had, he was hard pressed to think of a more stupid one. But there he was, a half hour before the animal shelter closed, and there was Sam’s hybrid SUV pulling up. A hybrid. _Because of course Sam drives a hybrid._

Castiel ran a shaking hand down his face. What the hell was the matter with him?

Sam emerged from the car, stretching his obnoxiously long legs. He carded his fingers through that ridiculous, soft hair. Then, when his gaze found Castiel standing at the entrance, he produced a grin that was equal parts sexy and shy. Castiel wished he wouldn’t.

“Hey! Sorry it took me a bit longer than I thought,” he said as he approached, relegating his sunglasses to the top of his head. God help him, even that was adorable. “They aren’t used to me actually leaving at the time I’m contracted to leave. There were about fourteen one more things before I could get away.”

“It’s no problem. I enjoyed the air while I waited.”

For some reason, this seemed to please Sam more than it should have. “Yeah,” he said in a soft breath as he reached to shake Castiel’s hand. “It’s gorgeous out. When we’re done here, there’s a cafe down the street that we could hit, where we could drink some coffee outside. If you’re not too busy. I’m buying.”

Castiel’s stomach warmed as if he were already drinking the coffee. “Maybe so,” he responded. He realized he had closed both hands over Sam’s, and then had not let go. He dropped it quickly, and turned to the door to hurry inside.

The smell of the animals hit him, but he did not mind. This was a very clean facility, and anyway, he had been volunteering here since the week he had moved to town. No matter where he went, before he even unpacked his bags, Castiel found a sanctuary for animals of some sort to spend his free time. He thought of these shelters as his own sanctuary sometimes. He knew the Church should feel that way, and usually it did, but this was different. There was part of him which his Church had never approved. Castiel had been a gay kid in a private Catholic school. Then he had been a gay young man at a Jesuit college. Then he had been a gay officer in the Air Force. Now he was a gay teacher and assistant director of a school just like the one he had graduated from as a teenager. Why did he do these things to himself? He could have done anything with his life. Why wouldn’t he choose to be someplace where he did not have to hide an important part of himself? He did not regret his choices, but he got a great deal of relief and pleasure out of his time volunteering with animals who could not have cared less about that part of him, because the more important part of him was his kindness, his patience, his dedication, his steadfast devotion to helping the helpless and loving the unloved. That was far more essential to his identity than his sexual orientation, and in this setting, that other part of him was entirely irrelevant.

Or it had been, until he decided to bring a handsome, passionate young lawyer along with him into his secret place of peace.

What was the matter with him?

Sam smiled kindly at the woman at the front desk. “Hi, I’m Sam Winchester, the counselor over at Triad Community Center. This is-“

She laughed at him brightly. “This is Dr. Cas. He’s with us about three days a week.”

The attorney’s eyes widened. “I…Oh. Dr. Cas?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “They like to tease. It’s just Cas, Madison. Even my students don’t remember to call me Dr. Spanner.”

The giggle persisted. “Whatever you say, Dr. Cas. Mr. Winchester, Cas knows his way around. Stay as long as you like, Doc, but lock up if you’re the last one out, will you? I’ve got a date, so my ass is hitting the parking lot the minute six o’clock comes around.”

He gave her a little nod of the head. “Enjoy your night, Madison,” he said warmly. “We won’t be long. I just thought Sam might like to meet some of the beneficiaries of our fundraiser.”

Madison’s eyes lit up. “I’m so excited about that! I’ve got everyone I know ready to show up. May 25th?”

“Yes. Thank you for spreading the word.”

“Thank you for doing it! The director just about collapsed when she found out it was going to be held at the Arch Gallery. She immediately realized she was going to have to buy a respectable dress.”

Castiel laughed quietly. “Tell her not to stress. We’re taking care of everything. All she needs to do is show up and accept the check for whatever little amount we can bring in.”

Madison’s fingers reached out to touch Castiel’s. “We appreciate you, Doc. Really. The publicity for this alone is worth it.”

He smiled shakily. “Ah. Yes, well, just don’t get anyone’s hopes up about how much we’ll raise.”

Sam winked at her. “Go ahead. Get everyone’s hopes up. I don’t know him well, but I’m guessing he's a worrier. I’ve got more faith than he does.” This time, he winked at Castiel, who rolled his eyes and turned away to hide his blush.

The large man followed him, ducking through the doorway to the dog floor. Upstairs lived the cats and rabbits, but Castiel had learned that Sam was a dog person. He had learned it by spying on him, he reminded himself in irritation. _What was the matter with him?!_

“Dr. Cas, huh? You’ve been letting me call you Mr. Spanner all this time.”

“It isn’t a big deal. I don’t call you Samuel Winchester, Esquire.”

He doubled in laughter, shaking his head. Castiel glanced at him, unable to hold back a smile at the way the man’s hair moved. Perhaps Samuel wasn’t correct. Perhaps it was Samson, he thought fondly.

God. What was the _matter_ with him?

“No, I think you should. From here on, anytime you use my name, I expect it to be Samuel Winchester, Esquire.”

“Then I’m United States Air Force First Lieutenant Castiel Spanner, PhD. If you’d like to escalate beyond single syllable nicknames, that is.”

Sam pretended to be very serious as he nodded. “Maybe we’d better stick with Sam and Cas.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed with a small smirk.

The dogs recognized Castiel immediately. They began barking in greeting, whining for attention, and he felt affection flood over him. These creatures were always happy to see him. He reached down to unlock one of the pens and let a young shepherd leap into his arms, as he crouched on the floor. “Careful, Remmy, careful. You can’t do that with just anyone, you know. You have to act like a gentleman till they fall in love with you.” He snuggled into the dog’s neck, and forgot for a moment that they weren’t the only two in God’s creation.

 When Sam spoke, it nearly startled him. “When you suggested I come, I thought we’d be meeting with folks on two legs. I’d have changed out of my suit if I’d known this was a different sort of conference.”

Castiel licked his lips in silence. He wondered if Sam thought he was crazy to have brought him here just to meet the animals.

“May I?”

He craned his neck to see Sam’s face. “Remmy, go to the nice man. Go on.”

The dog did as Castiel told him, and that satisfied him. He had been working with this particular dog for two weeks now, training him, to make him more attractive to families.

To his surprise and pleasure, Sam dropped to the knees of his suit trousers and embraced the dog wholly, with no regard for the integrity of his clothing. “Heya, Remmy! Is that short for something? Are you Rembrandt, Esquire, or Dr. Remmington or something? We’re going by first names, though, Remmy, yes we are!” he teased as he cuddled the excited dog.

Castiel was very glad for the poor lighting and Sam’s distraction. His face was heating rapidly. “Don’t get him too wound up,” he scolded. “He’s got to-"

“Gotta what? Gotta what, Remmy? Gotta go home with me and meet Bonesy? Bones needs a buddy, the poor guy. Or you could go live with Riot. Gosh, Riot would hate you. That’s okay, because he’s a cranky old man, just like the guy he lives with. Bones and I’ll love you.”

His smile was out of his control at this point. “Sam, you can’t steal the dogs.”

“Don’t listen to him, Remmy. You’ll fit in my suit pocket, right? I’ll sneak you out.”

The vision of this enormous man trying to stuff an enormous one year old shepherd into his suit jacket finally caused Castiel to burst into a rare peal of laughter. Even Remmy was surprised to hear it. He gave a little yelp of delight in response. Castiel shook his head and held the pen door open. “Remmy, in.”

There came a whine, but not from the dog.

Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. “You’re as bad as the puppies!”

Sam laughed, and gave Remmy one last scratch before standing up. “How can you volunteer here and not take home every single one?” he demanded as Remmy returned to his pen to receive his treat. “Do you have like fifteen of them at home?”

“I don’t have any at home.”

 The man’s mouth dropped open. “How?”

He shrugged. Castiel began leading Sam to the dog runs, which would likely benefit from their fundraiser, as they were in bad need of repair. “I have sixty animals to come visit, play with, groom, and train, right here. Why would I need to take them home?”

“Who do you sleep with?”

His eyes flicked back at the man walking behind him, and he was amused to find that Sam was suddenly the one blushing, as if he could not believe what had just blurted from his lips. “No one,” he responded, with a look that bordered on smug, and he pushed open the back door to the shelter, into the fresh air.

Sam was obviously flustered now, and Castiel could not help enjoying it. It was not often that he was the less awkward of any two people. “I meant…” The screen door slammed behind the huge man, and Sam startled. He cleared his throat. “I meant, I, um, my dog Bones, he’s slept on my bed for years. Poor guy used to be just like Remmy, but he’s got a condition that keeps him from being able to run much, so he, um…I live in an apartment, just me and him. I just meant…”

Castiel tried not to smile, and at least had the kindness to not watch Sam as he rambled. “These are the dog runs,” he said unnecessarily. “I suspect any money we bring in will go in part to updating these. They need it.”

The other man cleared his throat. “Right. How much do you think that would cost?”

“More than we’ll make,” he assured him. “But that’s all right. They’ll appreciate anything we can do. And my kids are very excited about producing things for the gallery.”

At last, the younger man was back to business, any previous anxiety gone. “Mine too. I chatted with a few of my kids last night and this morning, and they’ve exchanged texts with your students. Ben and Krissy will be meeting with Andy and Ava tonight, apparently. Ben is an ally, and he’s a great artist. I thought he would be a good choice to pair with Krissy, since he…”

“Isn’t actually gay?”

Sam snickered. “Yeah. Because he isn’t gay.”

“Well, I’m not sure Ava isn’t, so that’ll even itself out,” he teased gently.

He looked at Castiel quickly, to ensure that he was joking. “Right,” he responded. “I didn’t have a Catholic on my team to send. A straight guy’s the best you’re going to get.”

Castiel gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s hope these kids are mature enough to not fixate on social or religious designations. They really aren’t the most important parts of a person’s identity, or the best way to judge a soul.” He could feel Sam watching him now, so he turned back to the runs. “I thought we could get some of the kids over here together, get them to photograph some of the animals and the shelter, for a display at the art show. That’s why I wanted you to come see it. We can set up a booth that will have more information about my school, your community center, and the shelter itself, and have one of the kids from each of our groups, and the director here to answer questions and take simple donations."

“That’s a great idea! Cas, you really have a lot of creativity yourself. Are you an artist?”

“Me?” He shook his head. “No. Certainly not. I’m a pilot.” He caught his breath suddenly. Why had he said that? “A teacher. I’m a teacher.”

“A pilot? For the Air Force, you said.”

Castiel forced himself to take a breath. “That was a long time ago.” He turned and walked back into the shelter.

The tour continued. He showed Sam the cats and the rabbits, and the sole, lonely guinea pig he had considered taking home on more than one occasion. But he shied from any more personal talk. It was frightening the way he had spoken to this man for just an hour in his office, exchanged a few text messages, walked around a shelter with him for twenty minutes, and now he was inclined to tell him things he told no one. His chest was beginning to ache.

_What was the matter with him?_


	5. Obligatory Cas Prefers Bees Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he does.

It was everything Sam could do not to call Dean the instant he was in the car. He forced himself to take several breaths first, to calm down as well as he could. God, he hadn't felt like this since college. Maybe before. Maybe ever.

Dean would talk him off the ledge. He took one last breath and dialed.

"Come drink a beer with me and Riot."

Dean never said hello. "No, I...I gotta get home to Bones. He needs me." It was practically a whine warped by a sigh.

"Oh, for god's sake, Sammy. What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he yelped. "Except I spent all evening with Castiel Spanner."

"The straight guy."

"The...You don't have to say it with that voice."

This time, the sigh was Dean's. "Sammy, you ever get the feeling you're not as smart as everybody always said you were?"

"All the time." His head was leaning on the steering wheel.

His knees hit the dash as a knock rapped on his window. Cringing, he whirled his head to find Castiel staring at him through the glass.

"Jesus, I gotta go!" He could hear Dean's sputter as he hung up the phone and put down his window. "Cas! What? I thought you left!"

The blue eyes were examining him critically. "I forgot I promised Madison I'd lock up, so I came back. Then I saw you...like that. Are you all right?"

Sam thought he might never be all right again. Their coffee had been almost entirely business, discussing the art show, the handling of funds, ways each group could build trust and respect beyond this project. But there were times when Castiel stopped scribbling notes to himself and leaned in to show Sam what he had written, or looked into Sam's eyes so intently he lost track of what he was saying. Then their hands had brushed together as they both reached for their coffees on the small table, and Sam could feel his breath stick in his tight chest, and he did not hear anything else Castiel said in that amazing voice for nearly a minute. That was when the teacher had smiled at him and suggested that Sam was tired, that perhaps they should call it a night, and Sam had been relieved as much as he was disappointed. They had walked back to the shelter where they had left their cars, and then shaken hands. Castiel had closed his hand between both of his, and Sam's hand tingled up to his elbow.

And now here he was witnessing him sulking in his car. Excellent. Nothing says professional quite like a car tantrum in a dog hair suit.

"Are you all right?" The man looked concerned now.

He forced a laugh. "Yeah! Yeah, no, I'm fine."

"You look a little gray, Sam. Did something we eat at the cafe bother you?"

"Allergies," he blurted. "It's spring. Everyone has allergies."

Castiel nodded, as though this explained everything. "I'm sorry about that. You should look for local honey. I get some every time I'm in a new place. It's supposed to ease your immune system's response..." Castiel frowned. "Anyway, you're fine, so I should go. Thank you for meeting with me tonight..."

Sam gave him a tight smile. "Honey mead," he muttered suddenly.

"What?" Castiel had turned, but now his eyes were on Sam again.

He flushed hotly. "I don't...Honey mead?" And at this point, he was not even forming sentences. His debate coaches would be so proud.

"What about it?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. You said honey, and I had smelled something when we first met that I couldn't...Anyway, it was sort of like a honey mead. Stupid, huh?"

Castiel stared at him. "Maybe it would be if I hadn't broken a bottle of mead in my office the day before. I'd bought it in my time after my morning classes, before my office hours, planning to have it with dinner. I accidentally kicked it over while on the phone with a disgruntled parent. You could smell it?"

Sam shrugged. "It was so faint, I couldn't think what it was till just now."

Very slowly, a smile curled onto Castiel's lips. "You enjoy mead?"

"Love it. My buddy Garth got me hooked on the stuff. My brother didn't approve, but he's hardly a pinnacle of great taste."

"It's the most ancient alcoholic drink in human history. It was the drink for Beowulf, and for Norse gods. Your brother is up against some fairly stiff evidence." Castiel's smile radiated more from his eyes than his lips. "It, uh...it probably won't help your allergies, but if you aren't in a hurry to get home..."

It didn't matter to Sam in the slightest what Castiel was about to say. The man had just put Beowulf's opinion up against Dean's. Whatever it was, Sam was available. "I'm not. In a hurry."

Castiel looked pleased, and perhaps a bit shy. "Would it be inappropriate to counter your offer for coffee with an offer to come over and enjoy a bottle with me? Tonight?" he added, as if that could somehow have been unclear.

The lawyer part of his brain went to work in a frenzy, sifting through their relationship and examining it from all possible angles. "That isn't inappropriate at all," he decided with relief. "I get the feeling you know a lot more about mead and honey wine than I do."

Those lovely, intriguing lips quirked with humor. "Then it's a good thing I'm a teacher."

Sam shot a text to Charlie before turning the ignition. His hands were shaking. "Love you forever for feeding & checking on Bones tonite."

It was nearly an immediate response. "Love me forever anyway. I'll take care of him. You getting laid?"

"No. But next best thing."

"So...getting drunk and wallowing in unrequited lust?"

"You know me so well it's scary."

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and followed Castiel's car out of the lot. At the first red light, he grabbed it up again and added, "Don't tell Dean!"

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Castiel knows, the phrase honey mead is redundant. Mead is an alcoholic drink made with honey. But it's a common mistake, Sam. ;)


	6. Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't belong in Castiel's home, in his space, in his life. But, God help him, Castiel likes him there.

This. This was definitely, finally, the worst idea he had ever had. Without a doubt, the absolute worst.

But he had seen Sam's smile when he had asked, and he wouldn't take it back for the world. Regardless of how bad the night-or the rest of his life-went, he had brought that sweet smile to Sam Winchester's face, and he regretted nothing.

He ran through the inventory in the wine cabinet in his head while he drove, and by the time his trembling fingers fumbled the door open, he knew which bottle he would choose. Sam had ordered a vanilla latte and a turkey wrap at the cafe. Sweet but light. He had the perfect bottle.

He watched as Sam seemed to be trying to crouch on his way in the door; as if afraid he might not fit. It was cute, though Castiel could not have said why.

The older man's heart was pounding. He wanted to pray that Sam couldn't hear it, but he and God weren't speaking to one another again this week, and he didn't want to bother Him anyway. Not with this. Father Raphael would rather God smote Castiel for what he was trying to do than help.

And what was it he was trying to do anyway? It was not a sin to befriend someone, though Castiel had certainly acted as though it were over the course of his life so far. He had students, colleagues, fellow volunteers, and that was about all. He sought comfort in the Church, but rarely in any of its people. They were good people, wonderful people, for the most part. But he felt as though he were lying every time he spoke to them on a personal level. So he didn't. He spoke to no one.

Castiel read and worked with animals. It was the only time he felt like himself, when he was volunteering with creatures who needed a kind heart, or when he was tucked into his chair at home with a glass of mead and a book.

There was a time when he might have included flying in that short list, but that was a long time ago.

"Please," he said quietly, gesturing to the couch and coffee table. "I'll bring some things out." He saw a flash of anxiety cross Sam's face, and he was not sure why, so he clarified. "Glasses and the bottle."

Sam didn't exactly seem reassured, but he smiled and nodded.

Castiel frowned as he collected the items to bring out on a tray he generally used only for himself. Where was he going with this? When was the last time he had even had another person in his home?

He was extremely tidy, and he knew the house was impeccably clean. But it was fairly spartan as well. He wondered if that appeared cold to Sam. Castiel had always loved his home. He had transferred his few belongings from place to place as he moved, and rebuilt the same habitat as closely as he could each time. The bookshelves were in the exact spot in this house as they had been in every residence in Massachusetts. His chair faced the same angle. The kitchen drawers and cabinets were arranged just the same. The small differences in the layout of each house were of little concern. Castiel knew upon entering a room exactly where everything belonged.

Sam didn't.

He flinched as the thought crossed his mind while he reached for the glasses. He had placed blue cheese samples and Portuguese bread on the tray, and drizzled it all with heather honey to match perfectly with his choice of mead. He carried the tray to the living room where Sam was sitting, suit jacket over his arm.

He didn't belong in Castiel's space.

 _But he certainly does look good there_ , Castiel heard his heart whisper, even as his mind was expressing disapproval. Something in his soul keened with that confession, and replied in a giddy way, _He_ _certainly does feel right!_

No one had ever felt right before.

Sam smiled at him and stood to help lower the items to the table. "Okay, Sensei," he teased gently. "Teach me."

The easy tone relieved some of Castiel's tension. He tried to smile back. "All right, then. This," he said as he opened the bottle and poured generous amounts into each glass, "is a metheglin."

Immediately, Sam burst into laughter, and the sound filled the room in a way it had never been filled before. Castiel's heart sang with the ripples of pleasure pinging off every wall, every book, absorbing into his chair and couch. He was sure he would be able to feel that warmth long after Sam had gone, every time he was in the room. He thought perhaps he would try sleeping on that couch, just to soak in the aura of that laughter.

Sam was speaking, and Castiel had to focus. The large man took hold of his glass and looked at its contents. "Well, I didn't expect to be lost instantly! I have no idea what that word even means! Here I thought I knew something about mead, and you're already using words I've never heard before!"

It pleased Castiel just how comfortable this man was laughing at himself. In his experience, a man who could laugh at himself was far less likely to laugh at others. "Yes, well, it simply means it is a mead with herbs. Some types are meant to have healing properties, though I think that likely stems more from the intoxication than the herbs. This one is made with heather honey and meadowsweet. Taste it." Castiel bit into his lower lip as he awaited Sam's opinion.

A look of delight came over the man's face as he sipped delicately at the mead. "I kind of love that," he breathed.

Then Castiel lost his ability to breathe for a time as he watched Sam lick the sweetness from his lips and let his eyes slip closed happily.

"That's really great."

The voice brought back Castiel's breath. "I'm so glad you like it."

It took two glasses for Castiel to even begin relaxing, but to his amusement, Sam seemed to become more animated and less careful after the same amount. The man entertained them both with stories from college and time with the kids he helped, and tales of road tripping with his brother Dean. Castiel was quieter, but he found himself greatly enjoying every syllable. He retrieved a second bottle to let Sam compare the meadowsweet to a raspberry melomel.

At some point, Castiel had moved from the chair across the small table from Sam to the opposite end of the couch upon which the large man perched. He had shifted in order to point out something on the label of the second bottle, but it seemed suddenly unnecessary and perhaps even rude to move back to his chair. Sam had discarded his suit jacket and shoes, and the tie had come off too. The shirt sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows. And Castiel was not sure when it had happened, but the top two buttons on Sam's shirt were no longer hiding his throat. It was impossible to avoid staring at that gorgeous throat.

Sam was tasting the last of the bread, and washing it down with the herb mead, while Castiel tried to explain the minor difference between mead and honey wine, and debate whether or not it even mattered, since most people, not counting the Hungarians, considered honey wine to just be another form of mead. Then the hazel eyes turned toward him, and he stopped mid-sentence.

"You are amazing, you know that?" Sam murmured. "Really, you are so smart."

The mead allowed his discipline to fail, and the blush went rampant across his face. "I read a lot. That's all."

Sam shook his head. "Isn't just that," he insisted. "You're kind of beautiful too, you know?" He waved his hand in a dismissal. "Look, I know that's the last thing you want to hear from a guy. I don't mean...I hope you're not freaked out by that. Just...I wanted to tell you. You're kind of beautiful."

There was an crushing weight in his chest that demanded his attention. He swallowed hard. "Sam, you don't have to say things like that. Not to me."

"It's just that I..." Sam took a deep breath and threw back the last of his mead. Castiel felt his whole body react when he watched the younger man lick his lips this time. "Look, I just mean you're a great guy. I've really enjoyed getting to know you more. Better. You don't have to worry about me also thinking you're kind of beautiful. I'm not going to do anything that'll make you uncomfortable. You should just know. You know? Even if you aren't attracted to guys, which is totally fine, by the-"

Something in Castiel snapped. "I am. I always have been. I am, and I've never been more attracted to anyone than to you right now. God help me. I want you so badly."

The eyes lifted to meet his, and for a long, painful moment, neither of them moved.

Then Sam was surging forward, hands reaching for Castiel's warm face, and he was pulling him into a hungry, soft kiss.

_How long had it been?_

How long since he had taken some comfort in another man's arms? How long since he had allowed his lips to move on a man's mouth, to steal his breath, to let his long fingers slide through soft hair?

How long since he had given in last? Since his flesh had ached and his heart had ached and his soul _had ached_ for touch, until he couldn't stand it any longer, and he had accepted for a night that he was no better than human? How long?

Far, far too long. Years had gone by while a handshake was the only contact he had allowed.

Now the floodgates were open, and he could not have pulled himself back from this embrace even if he had known it would leave him broken. Because it would. And he did know. But he didn't care. For now, he was going to give himself over to the ministrations of a man who thought he was beautiful.

_God help him._


	7. Paradox in a Beautiful Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answer is always more mead.

He could not keep his fingertips from strumming across his own arms. The skin goosebumped and his bicep shivered. He was breathing shallowly, even after several moments of sweet, quiet recovery. His mind was still meady, but it did nothing to reduce the intensity of sensation across his raw, over-stimulated nerves.

He glanced at Castiel. The man lay dark against cream sheets, and on his face there was a look of dismay fighting to expel the bliss. Sam shook his head with a soft smile. This man was a giant paradox stuffed into a beautiful vessel. Every inch of him was the perfect picture of peace and contentment, except for the frozen half-smile and the desperation in the dark eyes.

Those eyes. If Sam were ever granted the time, he would make a study of the thousand different blues which shined from Castiel's handsome face, depending on the light and his mood. He knew his own eye color was unpredictable, but Castiel's...Well, Doyle would call the mystery a study in azure, and Sam had ever been a devoted student.

"Are you all right?" he breathed.

"Of course."

Sam licked his lips, and he caught the ice blues flicking up to watch. "That...wasn't the first time with a guy...right?"

Castiel huffed humorlessly. He had not looked Sam in the eyes for several minutes. "No. I'm closeted, not dead. Not in denial."

Sam watched him sadly. There was obvious self-loathing that Sam suspected had been there a very long time. Perhaps he should feel insulted. What Castiel despised in himself was something Sam embraced in his own identity. But he felt only empathy for this man so obviously waging a lifelong battle inside his own heart.

When Castiel did not continue, Sam sighed. It was a shame such an amazing experience had to be tainted by guilt. "I'm sorry. I came on strong when I knew you didn't want this. I was wrong about why you didn't want it, but it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have pushed you into something you'd regret."

The blue gaze had been fixed on the ceiling, but though Castiel's head remained still, his eyes slid slowly to meet his. "You think I regret this?" he asked softly in his smoke and sandpaper voice. "You think I regret any of this?"

Sam frowned. "You seem to."

He went back to staring at the ceiling and now the eyes were blue pools of bitterness. Tears edged out and traced their way across his skin to disappear into dark hair. But the voice did not tremble or break even once. "Sam, I am not a child. I wasn't drunk. You didn't take advantage of me. I'm perfectly capable of making my own bad decisions and owning them."

Again, Sam wondered if that should sting. "Was I a mistake?"

The ghost of a smile passed his pale lips now. "You? Not even a little."

"I don't understand. Pretend that I'm still pretty drunk, because I am, and that I've succumbed to a sex fog. Because I have."

Castiel laughed quietly. "You are fascinating in a way I thought I was immune to." He turned finally, and Sam was nearly startled by the movement. "Sam, I can't even tell you how amazing you feel."

To his surprise, Sam felt the strong arms wrap around him again and pull him down atop Castiel. Immediately, his whole body reacted to the contact, thrilled with the touch of skin and melted into the hard muscles beneath him. He could not help the way his heart flipped when one of Castiel's arms held him tight about the small of his waist, and the opposite hand buried itself in his hair. He let his eyes slip closed as he lay his naked weight on Castiel, and he listened to the heartbeat, which was more controlled than he had expected.

The voice was incredibly deep, but gentle. It rumbled through the man's chest, and Sam could feel it shiver through him. He squirmed happily.

"Sam, you are everything I've built up a tolerance against my whole life. Your skin is everything I've tried not to taste." Castiel was murmuring the words through sensuous kisses into the back of Sam's neck. Then he took hold of Sam's fingers and raised them to his lips. "You smile and I can't remember why I fought so hard to steel myself against something so beautiful. What we just did? If you think I regret it, that I didn't want it, then I'll show you again how attractive you are, how you take my breath away, and this time? I'll leave no doubt that you are everything I've ever wanted."

Sam let out a soft moan as he felt Castiel shift beneath him. He bit into his lower lip to keep another wanton whimper from escaping.

"You are the freedom I've never had."

His eyes opened now. "But, Cas, you could have it. It's not the eighties. You don't have to hide what you are, or what you want."

Castiel kissed his palm tenderly. "You are still drunk," he teased. "Sam, it isn't that simple. Do you honestly believe this is the only thing I don't feel comfortable with others knowing? I'm alone because I'm supposed to be."

He recognized the dismissal, and his chest tightened. He pushed himself up onto his hands to look into his lover's face. "You're...Really? That's it? You're going to just call this a mistake and nothing's going to change?"

The older man looked amused. "Sam, what did you expect to change? If you need reassurance that I'm glad I invited you for mead, I'm willing to spend a few more hours making it very clear how gorgeous you are, how good you feel. I'll make sure you know that I know how lucky I am that you let me touch you. I will worship you in the worst kind of sacrilege. Tonight. Then tomorrow, I'll drive to another town and confess to a priest who doesn't know me, and I will beg forgiveness with all the sincerity in my heart. And I'll make a new vow to be stronger in the future."

A sob of hurt and anger was filling Sam's throat now. He stared in disbelief. His body rolled away from Castiel as if it burned, and the older man did not seem surprised.

Castiel put his hands behind his head, and looked at Sam with no readable expression other than weariness. "I'm grateful for time with you, Sam. You are an amazing man. You feel-"

"I feel like sin," he snapped, and tears betrayed him by dropping against his command. "I feel like damnation. I just spent nearly an hour examining you from all angles, so how the hell didn't I see this coming?"

Castiel lowered his eyes finally. "I'm sorry." Then sadness filled a smile when he looked back up. "And you thought you were the one taking advantage."

Sam's breath came fast now, and he reached for his clothing. It was still difficult to focus, but anger was leading where sobriety failed him. "Well, then let's just say this has been a fun way to blow off some steam for each of us, and we'll just worry about art from here on out."

Castiel sat up with a sigh. "Sam, please don't try to drive. Sleep here tonight."

"Sleep..." He had pulled on his pants and had tangled his tee over his head, but he stopped to stare at Castiel. "Are you crazy? Maybe you are. That's the only thing that explains everything."

He heaved a sigh. "Sam, I don't know what you expected," he said again. "Hey! Stop! Come back. I'm sorry. Please."

Every part of Sam told him to grab his jacket and keys and get out. Every part, that is, except the one that mattered. He refused to look at Castiel, but he planted his feet.

"Sam, we've known one another just a week. Right? You know nothing about me. You're quite open, but I'm...less so."

He turned to glower at him. "Yeah. You're less honest. I get that. Less honest with other people and completely dishonest with yourself."

"You know nothing about me," he said again, this time in a warning tone he probably used on his students when they had just one last chance.

"Because you won't tell me! That ain't my fault, man! You don't want to talk, fine. But don't tell me you're going to confess this to a damn priest and promise never to be...this!"

"I don't deserve this!" he roared.

It was such an eruption that the whole bed shook, and Sam's breath stopped for a time. He let his mouth drop open in shock.

The icy eyes flashed dangerously. "This!" he spat. "You think I meant it's a sin? It's a blessing! I'm not worried about confessing to a priest that I'm gay, you presumptuous, conceited child! Not losing my job, that's why I go out of town. That's an easy fix! The sin isn't finding pleasure in a man! It's giving in and taking that pleasure! That is my sin! My weakness! It has nothing to do with being gay and everything to do with being weak!"

Tears were streaming down Sam's face, and he knew better than to blame the alcohol for how emotional he was getting. He had fallen for this man. When it had turned from an amusing crush to a desperate ache, he could not have said, but it had, and there was nothing he could do to turn back time. "I don't understand," he whispered.

"Why would you?" Castiel demanded in exasperation. "After just a few short encounters, I can see clear as day how good you are! A bit self-righteous maybe, but why not? You're a tireless caretaker of kids who have nobody else watching out for them. For Christ's sake, Sam, children and puppies and Gabriel Arch love you. You couldn't in a million years understand what it would be like to be..."

"To be what?" he shrieked.

"To be..." Castiel caught himself, but he looked at Sam desperately.

Sam kept his gaze stubbornly steady and waited.

"To be undeserving," he whispered with a hollowness that punched into Sam's heart.

The younger man ground his teeth for a moment longer, making a decision. Then he tossed his button down shirt to the ground again and took a step toward his lover.

Blue eyes watched him. Castiel frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm too drunk to drive anyway," he muttered to himself. "Might as well get my heart broken while I'm already here. Save time later."

"What-"

"Break out some more mead. You're not drunk enough to spill your secrets like this. I'll be in the shower while you get your blood toxicity level nearer mine."

It was Castiel's turn to let his mouth drop.

Sam nodded at him, and turned toward the bathroom without another word.


	8. Hawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out with the story.

Castiel had a high tolerance.

It took quite a bit of pain to register on any scale for him. It took far too much alcohol to get him buzzed. It took a great deal of irritation to cause him to truly lose his temper. It took an inordinate amount of frustration to make him lose his composure.

But he had no tolerance for weakness within himself. He had spent his life mercilessly sanding out every chink in his armor, and every deficiency in his self-control.

He was disciplined.

There was nothing he could not deny himself, nothing he needed so badly he couldn't give it up. He had proven that time and again, if only to himself and his God.

No one but he and his God knew how ravenous Castiel Spanner was.

No one but he and his God knew how gluttonous, how disgustingly lustful and undeservingly, maddeningly voracious he truly was. How selfish, insatiate. How far beyond redeemable.

The only way to battle against his sinful intemperance was with unwavering discipline. Just as an alcoholic must never touch even a drop of alcohol, Castiel, who desired too much, must neglect that desire resolutely and without exception.

He drank the wine straight from the bottle now. It was a bitter Merlot, not mead. Too much of any one indulgence was fatal to his vow of austerity. Bitter and dry was what he merited, not sweet.

His latest indulgence was emerging from the bathroom with wet hair, in only his boxer briefs. Castiel lifted the bottle to his lips, swallowing down gulps of wine with delicious, morbid pleasure. He stared openly at the man. He had already broken his promise tonight. What was a little more gratification? He may as well deviate to the height of his satisfaction now.

The wine brought with its warmth a tangling swirl of self-loathing and elation at his own defiance. It brought physical, painful, nearly sexual pleasure to find that, once again, he had failed. He had given in to his baseness and his greed.

A breach of discipline was never subtle for Castiel. It was extreme. His lust came only in the form of a river, never in a controlled stream.

So he soaked in Sam's presence, gorged himself on his beauty, and accepted the self-hatred as a part of the arousal, since he never felt the latter without the former. Not since...

Sam sat with one leg tucked under him. Castiel drank in his body's charms just as surely as he did the wine from its bottle. He basked in Sam's light, even if he didn't merit it. He would confess tomorrow. Tonight, he was giving himself over to reckless lust.

Castiel set the bottle onto the floor, then moved toward Sam on the bed. _Tonight!_ his body screamed. _Just tonight_. _I'll renew my promise tomorrow, but please, God, please let me let go tonight_. "I know it should be him," he whispered as he pressed Sam into the mattress, brushed starving lips across the soft skin over hard muscle. "It should be him, but I can't anymore. God, I can't!"

The wine was leaving holes in his evening, like a stop-action recording with missing frames. Sam had told him to catch up, but he was far beyond the level of intoxication Sam had experienced. The wine had barely touched his tongue on its way down.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered drunkenly, as he kissed Sam's lips and worshipped his face and jaw and ears and throat. "I'm so, so sorry. I just can't anymore. I'm not strong enough. I need it. I need something!"

And without noticing, he had found himself curled into Sam. Sam was holding him, letting him weep. Disgusting. Disgraceful. Unacceptable. Unjustifiable! But God help him, it felt so good to be held.

"Who, Cas?" Sam whispered. His fingers stroked through his lover's hair with a tenderness Castiel had never earned.

"Balt. He was the one that should have..." His sob caught in his throat. "He's the one I killed."

Sam should have recoiled. He should have been repulsed. But his hand never stopped its gentle caress.

"You saw my scar?" He breathed the question, as if speaking too loudly might be what pushed Sam too far, what would make him walk out.

"I saw a scar." There was a kind smile on the young man's face. "But I was a bit distracted at the time."

To his own amazement, Sam's smile pulled a matching one, full of awe and gratitude, from Castiel. "Yes, well, I was shot. Because I'm arrogant. Because I'm conceited and careless. Because I don't have the discipline to listen to someone I outrank. Because I didn't have the humility to recognize when I’m too insouciant."

"What happened?"

Castiel sighed, and he turned away from Sam. He lay on his side. He was wearing a pair of pants he used for jogging; his chest remained bare. He could feel Sam curl in behind him, and he hated himself for enjoying it so much.

"I'm a pilot. I was a pilot. I've been grounded for years." He wondered if Sam could hear the ache in his voice as clearly as he could. "HH-60G."

"HH...?"

"My Pave Hawk. We saved a lot of people, she and I. And we killed one."

"I don't understand."

"Rescue. It's what I did. Beat the hell out of shooting at people. I could fly just about anything with wings, and loved it all, but the HH-60G and me, we did some real good. I was kind of an all-purpose pilot. Anything happened in the region, they sent me for the linkup. Balt was one of the first airmen on my runs, there to have my back and help those we were sent to bring in out of the cold while I took us home."

Sam was quiet now. He seemed to understand, _that sweet man_ , that this was something no one else knew, that Castiel found it painful to vocalize this, even while intoxicated.

"Reliable intel is as important as body armor in the field. We were told we had three passengers to lift back to base. When we got to location, there were two. And there are three words I'll hear in my head night and day for the rest of my life. Maybe another's coming. I don't know, Lieutenant, maybe another's coming."

He could smell the blood now. The stinging copper taste was in his mouth. Some men talked about hearing the sounds of a battle after their service. For Castiel, it would always be the smell and taste of blood, and those three horrible words.

"Cas? Are you all right?"

He took a breath. "Of course. What was I...?"

"Maybe another's coming."

Hearing it from another man's lips again ran a shudder through him. He could feel Sam's arms tighten around him protectively. He made himself go on. "Balt was right. He was right. He said, Lieutenant, we gotta go now. Hot spots don't cool down for rescues, after all. You get in, you get out. But I couldn't stop thinking about what it would feel like to reach safety just in time to watch your rescue disappear into the sky. There were supposed to be three airlifted out, and I only had two."

"So you waited."

"So I waited. Too long. Took a bullet in my neck. A centimeter in any direction and I would be dead. It cut through skin mostly, a deep graze. Then I called it, because we were taking fire. Stupid to wait so long. We were ten feet off the ground when I took one in my shoulder. They were targeting me. Sniper. Not just random fire. There was a sniper trying to take down the whole bird. Most won't even try that. Too hard a shot. But whoever this guy was, must have been on a building someplace where the angle was right; he was damn good, and he hit me twice. Balt must have realized, because he dove into the seat beside me, where the fire was...where it was coming from. He turned to face me, put his back to the hostile. Son of a bitch smiled and winked. Ballistics confirmed what I already knew. That third one would have killed me. It was meant for me. He took what was supposed to be for me."

There was a hand on his scar now, just south of his shoulder, the dent in his left bicep. Fingers traced the lines reverently, and his eyes closed tightly against the sensation. He had never allowed anyone other than a doctor to put his hands there. It felt almost as if Sam were taking the last of the pain, which he had thought he couldn’t feel anymore. All this time, the pain had still been there, but he hadn’t known, because it was so truly a part of him.

“His blood. It was all over me. It was everywhere. On my face, my uniform, my hair, even in my ears and my mouth. And I had to fly, had to get back to base before a fourth shot hit, before Balt died for nothing. They said I landed beautifully,” he laughed with a copper bitterness on his tongue. “Textbook landing on the pad, then I passed out. I don’t remember anything past Balt taking that hit for me and knowing I still had to fly us out of there. I guess I went into shock or something, but I got the guys back safely, and apparently I didn’t even have it left in me to let my bird sleep before I went under. When I woke up, they said I had earned a medal recommendation, a likely discharge, and the gratitude of two families. I didn’t even speak, just closed my eyes and went back to sleep.”

“You saved those people.”

“That was my job. And if I’d done it right, Balt wouldn’t have…” He sighed. Tears were streaming down to his pillow, but for some reason, they didn’t hurt this time. On his flight home, he had struck a bargain with himself. One night every year, on the date it happened, he would allow himself to grieve. He would drink enough for him and Balt, and then he would let everything out, and pass out begging forgiveness from a ghost that smiled and winked. Every other day of the year, he would work, and he would volunteer, and he would do what he could to help, and he would store up his own disgusting self-pity until it was time again to let it out, on the anniversary.

This was not the night. With the last of his will, he pushed past the intoxication to tear down his weakness, to force his tears to stop flowing, to force himself to move out of Sam’s arms and sit at the edge of the bed. He would tell Sam his story, but he would not wallow in it, and he would not accept Sam’s warm comfort. It was more generosity than he could allow. More than Balt would ever feel again.

When he spoke again, it was with a bone-deep anger, a self-loathing that choked him, even through the fog of wine. “I was his CO. I was supposed to take care of him. And I let him down. Balt took a bullet that was meant for me. I promised him. As soon as I was back in the States, I went to confession. Straight out of the airport, went right to the Church, and spoke to a priest for the first time in years. Then I lit my candle and spoke directly to God. I promised Him, I would never take what should have been Balt’s. He never should have taken what should have been mine. He took death that was meant for me. I would never take life that was meant for him.”

Sam’s voice was soft, but he detected a hitch to it. “What does that mean?”

“I promised the priest I was going to dedicate myself to Catholic education. I’m not good for much else, but it seemed to be a way I could show gratitude for being spared. Then I promised God and Balt that I would never feel the things Balt should be feeling instead. We were brothers in arms, and I was a poor excuse for one. Now my brother is dead, and it should have been me, and I can’t take things that should be his.”

Sam’s hand moved to his shoulder, and it burned his skin. For a moment, he did not know whether it would be better to move away, deny himself the contact he craved, or to stay and let it sear into his skin, and thereby punish him. In the end, he knew he would rather have a touch that hurt than none at all. So he stood and moved away from it.

 “Please don’t, Sam,” he hissed. “This is exactly what I mean. Any man, but, God, a man like you especially. That touch is something I can’t have if he can’t. I never should have asked you to come here. I wanted you so badly…I just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t fight it. Because I will always fail. It took years this time, but I failed again. There’s just something about you that makes me forget I can’t have this. And I’m not strong enough to keep backing away, so please. Please leave.”

His eyes were red, and his lips closed tightly, but Sam did not push away the tears that were racing down his cheeks. He sniffed once. “You want me to stay.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I do,” he said through his teeth. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And you’re everything I swore I’d never let myself feel.”

The soft lips smiled without humor. “What about me? You’re what I want too.”

Pain flashed across Castiel’s eyes then. “No, Sam. I’m a closeted mess, exactly the opposite of what you stand for. I’m a selfish, broken human, a typical arrogant pilot who thought he was God, just because he could fly. I teach kids because no one knows better than I do what ignorance and conceit can do. I’m not what you want. You’re just too good to know better.”

Sam nodded sadly. “Cas, everybody has scars. Everybody carries guilt. Everybody deserves to be loved.”

The blue eyes closed against the voice. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Balt deserved to be loved. Instead, he had his heart shot out by someone who was trying to kill me. I didn’t deserve to live more than he did. I don’t deserve to be loved more than he did. He could have flown. I was a better pilot, but he could have made it. It didn't have to be him.” It was the wine. It must be the wine. He sank down against the bedroom wall, and put his forehead onto his knees. “Why would he…I’ll never understand why he…” And he was done. He was utterly incapable of true thought. Just one word pounded in his head, and it escaped from his lips as a moan. “Waste. Waste.”

There were hands on his face, a man kneeling before him, lips against his hairline. “No,” Sam whispered to him. “No. It wasn’t a waste.”

He couldn’t lift his head. If he did, he might collapse into Sam’s arms and he couldn’t let himself do that. “Didn’t have to be him. Should have been me. A waste.” He was past caring that he had never told anyone the story before. He was past caring that this man, this obviously good man, full of passion and compassion, would know all of him after tonight. There was not much to know. Castiel was not a complicated human. He was quite simple, in fact. He was just older than he should ever have been. That was all.

“Older than I should ever have been,” he murmured out loud. He was drunk. He had tipped back the wine bottle as if it contained water, and it was all hitting him full force now. He had given in to his grief in the past, but there had never been anyone there to witness it before tonight.

Sam was lifting him to his feet, and he could do nothing to resist the help. He sprawled across the bed, watching the ceiling spin and feeling as though the bed were tilted as if it were on the ocean. On the clouds. Flying. “Flying is like this,” he sobbed. “You said I could have freedom if I wanted it. That I could be myself without apologizing. I can’t. I’m not made for the ground. I’m supposed to be up there somewhere. In my Hawk. That's the only freedom I've ever felt. My Hawk. The F-15E Strike Eagle. Trained on it for months before they offered me search and rescue. Jumped on that. Missed the Strike Eagle, but I was never good at training to kill people. Not that it never happened with my Hawk. But it was my boys giving us cover, and all I had to do was get them back to base. That was all I had to…It was all I…”

“Shh. Cas, shh. You’re finished, Lieutenant. You can rest now.”

He rolled toward the edge of the bed and grabbed the nearby trashcan. He vomited, tasted the evening in reverse, in a perverse tainted version of everything good that he had consumed. He gave it all back, until his chest hurt. His scar hurt. His heart. Shrapnel from his burst heart came up too, and he added it to the mix.

Then strong hands were washing his face, holding him, drying his tears, rocking him like a child. His head was clearing rapidly, and when he could stand, the arms around him helped him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and stand in the shower while warm water beat down on him, washed off his shame and left nothing but fatigue in its place.

***

“Sam?” Castiel said softly, after perhaps twenty-five minutes of silence lying together on the bed.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No.” His voice was even rougher than usual, since he had thrown up everything in his stomach. “Why are you here?”

Sam turned toward him. His hazel eyes peered into Castiel’s lovely face. Before the older man could react, he planted a kiss on Castiel’s lips, then another, and another, until Castiel gave no resistance any longer. He let Sam work his way down to his jaw, then back onto his ear. “I like you. Or had I not been clear about that yet?”

“I don’t remember everything about tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it. After helping me kill two bottles of mead, you swallowed most of a bottle of merlot. You’re kind of lucky you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Castiel sighed. “You scare the shit out of me.”

Sam kissed his way back to face him. “You don’t have to be afraid of someone taking care of you. You’ve helped a lot of people. You’ve taught a lot of students. And you made me very happy tonight by letting me in. Let me help you. Let me care for you.”

He looked into Sam’s face, and shook his head in awe. “You are so smart, and so handsome, passionate…and you’re probably not even thirty yet. Why the hell would you want to take on a waste like me?” He flinched. “A weight like this, I mean. A burden.”

The young man shrugged and settled into the bed, propping Castiel’s head on his arm and curling him onto his own chest. “You’ve only been in the gay community for a few hours, so let me teach you a little bit about what it means to be part of a family, professor.”

He could feel Castiel’s tired chuckle.

“In my family, we look out for one another. No one is a burden. No one is a waste. Your life is valuable, and I’m glad that your friend Balt saw that. You say you became a teacher because you wanted to…”

“I wanted to do something to make his sacrifice worth it. To express gratitude for being given another chance, even if I didn’t want it.”

“Gratitude is a good start. And you think you’ve done some good as a teacher?”

Castiel nodded into Sam’s chest. “I’m a good teacher. I hate the admin duties. I never loved being a CO in the Air Force, and I really hate being a supervisor at the school. But I love teaching. Helping the kids explore the world and themselves, question their beliefs and understand their faith, learn where these ideas come from, and that they aren’t so different from those of people all over the world and throughout history.”

Sam smiled happily and ran his hand through Castiel’s dark hair. “And do you think Balt would appreciate what you’ve done with the life he gave you?”

There was silence, and Sam held his breath. After a long pause, Castiel spoke again, hoarsely. “Yeah,” he choked. “I never thought of it. But yeah, I think he would. He loved life, Sam. He loved flying.” A short laugh tickled Sam’s stomach. “He would have loved that meadowsweet mead.”

“So he would have approved of how you spend your time?”

Another pause lengthened the night before Castiel responded. “Probably not,” he admitted. “Balt was my subordinate, but he rarely saw it that way. He followed orders while we were in action, but anytime we were in holding, he seemed to forget that we weren’t just friends. Always tried to get me to go drinking with him and his buddies.” A real laugh came from his lips now. “Tried to hook me up with women on more occasions than I could count. Two nights before we went on our last mission, he had come back from a weekend pass having woken up with three women in his bed. He was still bragging about it when we took off. The other guys were in the back, but he sat up front with me so he could boast about his conquests.”

Sam gave a laugh too. “Sounds like a guy who wouldn’t want you to give up having conquests of your own.”

Castiel was biting his lip when he looked up at his lover in a sort of desperate adoration. “No,” he breathed, blue eyes flashing with desire. “No, he wouldn’t want that.” Without another word, he put a knee between Sam’s, and opened his legs gently, sliding up and over Sam’s skin in a hungry embrace. His lips and hands worshipped his lover’s flesh in a reverent way that made Sam shiver.

“I’m glad you agree,” Sam moaned over Castiel’s strong, scarred shoulder.


	9. Simple Man Seeks Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spends his Friday night quite differently from his brother.

The house was quiet as ever. Dean was not in the mood for television, but he kept soccer on in the background for company. He would prefer American football, but he wasn't really watching anyway. He had gotten Sam's text that he would call Sunday if he could come by for the game, and it made him sigh.

"Come on, Riot," he murmured. The dog hurried to follow him to the back porch. "Friday night," Dean laughed as he patted the dog's head. Riot rushed into the yard to do a perimeter check, and Dean looked at his phone.

He thought about calling Bobby. The man would be at home, and would let him come over to drink a beer, but Dean was tired of inviting himself over. He wanted to text Sam again. His brother had hung up awfully suddenly. He hoped he wasn't off getting his heart stomped on.

Cole would go out for a beer with him, if he were in town, but even if he were, his wife wouldn't appreciate Dean calling so late on a Friday evening.

He glanced at his watch. Night. It was past eleven. Probably too late to be calling anyone at this point.

Sam would laugh at him. Most of the girls he had ever dated and most of the guys he had gone to high school with would laugh too. Imagine Dean Winchester lonely and bored on a Friday night. Too old to want to do the bar scene pickup, too young to appreciate the quiet.

He pulled up the social media app on his phone and put up a status that would have pulled a snarky comment from him if he had seen one of the others post it. "Quiet Friday just us bachelors. Riot says hi." He looked for familiar icons, but none appeared, and he wasn't surprised. Dean didn't hang out with losers who sat online on nights like tonight.

Even Riot was too busy for him.

After a few minutes spent trying to talk himself out of it, Dean switched to a different app on his phone. He had never needed anything like this before. He told himself it was just another way of doing what he had always done, but that wasn't really the whole story.

Dean Winchester was not the Dean Winchester he used to be.

The side of his thumb swiped rejection after rejection. He barely glanced at the profile photos. He sought a nice smile and other than that, he had never cared much what a woman looked like. Confidence was sexy, intelligence and sense of humor. Those were things a photo really couldn't tell him.

He passed by the profiles where there were blatant grammatical errors and atrocious spelling mistakes. Sam would probably have a field day knowing that the first round of elimination on Dean's dating app was so academic in nature, but he had his reasons for it. It was careless, for one thing. And the possibility of the woman being drunk while posting her profile had to be lower if she had managed to spell correctly, he figured, and it likely indicated she was more serious about making a friend. He wasn't sure how true that really was, but it made sense to him.

The second round of elimination was a bit more involved. He looked for phrases that sent up red flags. Sam would probably be surprised to see what Dean considered a red flag as well. More than mild cursing was a turnoff for him. Unemployment made him wonder why. Separated but not divorced or very recently out of a long term relationship seemed like possible drama he wasn't interested in. He did not mind if there was a kid or two, but complaining about an ex in a dating profile just wasn't a good sign. Dean tended to get enough interest on his page to be choosy.

In a younger year-and before his accident, if he were being honest-his own profile would have looked very different. "Impala67, rolling through town, no strings attached. Interested?" Dean smiled to himself at the thought. It had been a long time since he had been that man. Year thirty had not been kind to Dean, and he knew he would never be that man again.

Now his profile was a bit less vague, a bit less cocky, a bit more cautious. The fact that he had even made a profile was sign enough that he had changed over the years. The heading for his profile read "Simple man, early thirties, loves classic rock, classic cars, classy women. Seeking companion who loves herself and knows what she wants."

Sam would have laughed.

Dean eliminated until there were no invitations to connect left in his inbox, then called Riot in. May as well go to bed. There was nothing to wait up for anyway.


	10. Good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam awakens first.

Sam was blessedly hangover free at dawn. It was why he had switched off tequila and let Garth talk him into mead in the first place. Mead head was infinitely preferable to tequila guts. So he slipped out of bed, and dressed enough to go to his SUV. He pulled a toiletries kit from his gym bag and brought it back into the house. He crept into the bathroom while Castiel snored softly. He cleaned himself up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, ran his comb through his hair. He checked his phone while he did this, and smiled at his text notifications.

Dean: What the crap, Sammy? You just hung up.

Dean: Seriously what the crap

Dean: screw you. You better not be dead somewhere

Jo: You wanna tell me why my girlfriend had to run down to your apartment for your dog? Better not be that straight guy.

Charlie: ignore JoJo. I know you aren't that dumb. Right?

Dean: Sam, pick up your damn phone.

Garth: Hey dog. Your bro posted a kinda weak statis onlin. Think he needs us to take him our tomorow night?

Charlie: Awaiting details

Dean: Bite me asshat. I'm going to bed.

Garth: ignore speling Bess made margrraitas

Sam laughed quietly to himself. He responded to each of them quickly.

Sam: I'm fine. Call you tonight, jerk.

Sam: Sorry, JoJo. Not with a straight dude. I promise.

This gave him a giggle.

Sam: yeah, man, call Dean. He turns into a hermit if we don't make him go out now and then.

Sam: Charlie, I'm falling in love. I'll call you later. Thank you for looking after Bonesy.

Dean: Bitch.

This time, his laugh was too loud, and he had to stifle it behind his hand.

He updated his status online. "Life is short but love is strong. If this is what it feels like, everyone deserves to have some."

He checked his email, responded to a few contacts from work, and was about to put his phone away when one last text popped up on his screen. It caught his breath.

Victor: Sammy, I saw your status online. Don't know if you even knew I still look at it. Just wanted to say I hope it means you've got something good in your life. Always hoped you'd be happy. Call if you ever need anything.

It caught him so off guard that he felt emotion block his throat for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and smiled.

Sam: Hey, Vic. That means a lot to me, that you still care. I wanted it to be you, but I'm glad it's him.

There was a pause, and he pictured Victor reading and rereading before responding.

Victor: I wanted it to be me too, Sam. I'll always be sorry I couldn't be that for you. Whoever he is, tell him thank you for me, for being what you deserve to have.

Tears burned, his sinuses ached throughout his whole face and skull. Who needed a hangover when he had a bittersweet friendship with the object of a past unrequited love to torment him?

Sam: I miss you, Vic. Take care of yourself.

Victor: You too, Sammy.

The man took several deep breaths and stepped back into the bedroom. He felt clean in ways he had not known he was tarnished before. Washing his face and shrugging off the last remnants of painfully rejected affection had left him lighter than before. He had not realized how much he still nurtured the hurt of Victor's denial. Letting go was like peeling back a tinting from a window, revealing colors and light he had forgotten were there.

Sam smiled at Castiel for a very long time. Finally, the man began to show signs of life, and he sprang into action. He wanted pleasure to be the first thing Castiel's brain registered this morning. Before he had a chance to deny it to himself, Sam wanted to give him what he deserved to feel.

Castiel's eyes had not even opened yet as Sam slid between the sheets to caress him. The lips parted in surprise, but the eyes remained closed, as if he could pretend it was a dream, and therefore could not be blamed for experiencing it. A deep groan pushed past his clenched teeth as Sam's hands found their mark. Castiel's body arched into his lover's ministrations.

When Castiel moaned out his name, Sam answered with a satisfied sigh. "It's all right, Cas," he whispered with his mouth to the man's ear. "It's all right. Let me. Just let me." He pressed his lips in a line down Castiel's neck and chest, then his soft stomach and beyond to the insides of his thighs, then at last replaced his hands with his wet and hungry mouth, gaze lifted to watch his lover's face.

The blue eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the reality of his loss of control, and Sam was afraid there might be tears. But he continued his efforts, giving Castiel the benefit of his not insignificant experience and his natural talent. Most of what made Sam good at what he did was the amount of pleasure he took in it himself. The feeling of Castiel's hips pushing against Sam's hold was exhilarating. He loved the sensation of the corners of his mouth stretching as his lips circled around a beautiful part of Castiel which had been neglected for too long. His hands and his lips and his tongue worked to draw every delicious sound from Castiel, until at last it became a roaring groan, and Sam was rewarded for his effort in spades.

Sam locked his lover's wide eyes with his own, and made sure the man could see him tasting his own lips with his tongue. It drew a whimper from Castiel's throat. Sam smiled with a smugness he did not care about hiding. "Good morning, Dr. Spanner."

Castiel let out all the breath in his lungs and let his head drop back against the pillow in defeat. Sam laughed at him contentedly.


	11. Willing to Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promise broken, promise made.

Castiel was willing to try. It was all he could commit to for now, but when he mumbled it to Sam while the second pot of coffee brewed, he had been suddenly engulfed in a passionate kiss which shocked him with its enthusiasm.

In the light of day, he could see what Sam had done for him the night before. Even though he knew he had, there was no evidence that he had thrown up. That alone made Sam something of a saint. And his whole body was relaxed in a way it had not been...maybe ever. It made it easier to focus on Sam's words as he detailed his argument, which Castiel guessed he had expressed last night, though perhaps not with as much eloquence. It was just like a lawyer to sit and make a logical argument with bullet points to convince Castiel that allowing himself to enjoy life and love was not only permissible but actually mandated by the sacrifice his friend had made.

Talking about Balt at all, let alone like this, was painful, felt wrong in the extreme. But the more Sam coaxed out of him, the more he began to feel a bit of relief in remembering Balt's life instead of his death.

After a short silence, while Sam was obviously letting him catch his breath, he smiled shakily at him. "It's strange. I've been reliving that moment when Balt was shot for years. I don't know why I forgot what he was like before that moment."

Sam's eyes were full of patient encouragement. He guessed Sam was an excellent counselor as well as councilor for those kids and their families.

He shook his head as though dazed. He was becoming numb, but not in the horrible, hollow way he always had before, not in the way that frightened the last bit of him that still wanted to be able to feel something one day. This was a feeling that there might one day be peace for him. Not today, and maybe not for a very long time. But the possibility was there where only dread had been for far too long.

It felt good to tell someone about Balt, he realized. He had been as close as Balt had to family, and other than a few of the other airmen and a string of women who likely had never asked his last name, he was the only one who thought about him. It hit him like a punch to the throat.

"I'm the only one who remembers him and I only...I only ever think of his death."

"So tell me about his voice."

The request shocked a tearful laugh out of him. "His voice?"

Sam grinned at him. "I got a thing for voices. Or haven't you noticed?"

A hot flush came across his face, and he did not bother to hide it. That in itself was liberating. Castiel could not think of a time he had not felt like hiding. "Okay," he chuckled softly. "Balt was American, but his family was British, and he never lost his accent. He used to joke that women loved it. Fluent in French and Arabic; that's why he was assigned to my team. Balt was our talker."

Sam snickered and took a sip of coffee.

Castiel frowned. "That wasn't his title, of course."

"No," the man laughed. "I guess I'm just not shocked you weren't the team talker."

He rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I did what I had to as an officer, but I left as much as I could up to him. Besides, other than Latin and a smattering of Arabic and Russian phrases, I'm useless in that regard. Very few folks want to converse in Latin nowadays," he said dryly.

"I've noticed that," Sam responded with that mock seriousness that Castiel was growing fond of.

"Thank you."

The man was snacking casually on the toast and cheese at his table as if he belonged in Castiel's space, which he did not. But it was fascinating to Castiel how he seemed to fill a void he had not noticed before. He looked amazing, sitting there at the teacher's table amongst his books. He loved the way he disturbed the perfect order of the environment around him. There were crumbs on the table Castiel would never have dropped, there was a dish left unwashed in the sink after Sam had used it, there was public radio playing jazz in the bedroom instead of the silence Castiel generally enjoyed. In just a few hours, Castiel's space had shifted from rigid, cold and safe to accommodate this stranger, as if the house knew something Castiel did not about where Sam belonged.

He realized Sam had spoken. "My apologies. I'm tired this morning, inexplicably. What did you say?"

Sam snorted at his sarcasm. "Inexplicably," he repeated. "I asked for what. You said thank you. For what?"

"For asking about Balt. It's my fault, because I never talk about him. Or anything, really. But even when it first happened, no one asked about him. They said it was a shame, that he was a hero, that he would get full honors. As if any of that meant anything to the guy who should have been dead instead. Like full honors would fix anything I had broken. Anyway, thank you. I haven't thought about things like this in a long time. Not the way I should have. Not the way it would have been fair to him."

"Cas, didn't you ever talk to anyone? They must have sent you to a doctor or something for..."

A bitter huff came from his lips then. "What? For PTSD? I went in and said what they wanted to hear. I'm an officer. I know how to answer the psych questions. They called me well-adjusted, stamped a medal on me and gave me my discharge."

"Well-adjusted, huh?" Sam gave a low whistle. "Well, no offense, man, but your doctor sucked."

He shrugged. "Yes. I guess he did. But in his defense, I've mislead everyone I've ever spoken to my whole life, and I'm in the high range of genius level intelligence, not to mention the extent of my training to prepare me for rescues and missions behind enemy lines. People don't get out of me what I don't want them to."

The bastard was smiling at him now.

Realization curbed his conceit. "Oh," he murmured.

Sam stretched his long arms over his head. "Oh," he laughed quietly.

It was amazing how Sam's laughter did not feel unkind. "I suppose," he muttered almost to himself, "some part of me really needed to tell someone about this. Wanted to tell you. I suspect that happens to you a lot? People tell you things they don't intend to?"

"Sometimes," he agreed.

"And yet you didn't go into criminal prosecution."

The laugh caught up with Castiel this time, and he joined in. It eased the tension in his chest.

"Who are you, Sam?" he breathed. He lifted to his feet and moved to kneel beside the large young man, peering up at him in awe and humility.

The hazel eyes were bright. Sam leaned to put his elbows on his knees to lower his forehead to touch Castiel's. It was perhaps the most intimate position Castiel had experienced in his life. It made him dizzy.

"I'm just Sam," he said quietly as he put his hands on either side of the older man's face. "Maybe it's time for you to just be Castiel. Not Dr. Spanner. Not First Lieutenant. Not Balt's sacrifice. Not a hero and not a victim. Not strong, not weak. Just Castiel."

He did not recognize his own voice suddenly. There was fear there. He had not heard fear in his own voice since he had learned to glare past it as an adolescent. "I don't know who that is," he confessed.

"I'll help you find him," Sam whispered. "If you're willing to try. Are you?"

"If you'll help me. I'm ready. I'm willing to try."

The kiss he received in reward was worth the awful pain of something sacred and protected breaking inside him.


	12. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One closet door leads to another.

It was the run to the car for a toothbrush that did it. The world had come crashing down all around Castiel because he had not thought to tell Sam, probably because he was too busy vomiting wine and guilt, that he kept spare toiletries in the bathroom closet. And because Sam had gone to his SUV at too early o'clock on a Saturday morning, a neighbor had seen him emerging from Castiel's home barefooted and bare chested. Which might have been fine if Sam's damn hybrid didn't sport Triad's logo and website on its damn bumper. Even that might not have been enough to do more than pique the interest of the old snoop, but once her attention had turned to Castiel's house, some time later, she had seen through an open curtain as the two men enjoyed a kiss between them. This had begun the phones buzzing.

Because Castiel's bathroom closet remained closed, his entire closeted identity was burst wide open, and everything private in his life, which had once been between himself and his God, was yanked out of it for the world to examine and judge.

Neither of them knew it for another wonderful two days, and by then, Castiel was certain he had fallen completely in love with Sam Winchester. Unfortunately, by that time, the rest of the people in his life knew it too.


	13. The Walls Start Crumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out, and not from Castiel.

Sunday was the first time Castiel had missed a Mass in a very long time. He had fallen ill one week last spring, and had gone on Wednesday instead. When the anniversary of his last mission fell on a Sunday, he did not attend Mass, but he did go to confession ahead of it. And today, he justified it with a hundred reasons not to go, but the only one that really mattered was that he wanted to remain in bed with Sam. Because that was what it came down to.

 _Sam_.

Castiel smiled into the man’s hair. Even though Sam was a larger person, they had settled into a pattern of Sam resting his head on Castiel’s chest while lying together. He liked it that way. He could shift just slightly and put his lips against the soft brown hair, and it was here he thought he was the happiest he had been in his whole life. He had never liked long hair on a man. He was drawn to the cropped, conservative cuts favored at private schools and in the military. But Sam was beautiful. It was neat and professional during the week, but on the weekend, and especially in bed, it was like something shifted, and he became a piece of natural art, some wild, windblown thing even in the stillness of Castiel’s habitat.

He still didn’t belong. But Castiel liked him there.

Sam was awake, and had been for a long time, perhaps even longer than Castiel. But he had remained still as if they had all the time in the world to spare.

Castiel kissed his head softly. “I didn’t know how I’d feel this morning.”

His lover did not move, but he responded in a whisper. “I didn’t know how you’d feel either. Do you want me to go?”

“No.” He tightened his arms around the man. “Please stay. Just a bit longer.”

Sam sighed happily, and snuggled in. “I don’t want you to regret this. I really don’t want you to regret this.”

He took a breath and thought for a moment before responding. He would be lying if he claimed part of him was not viciously attacking him from inside his own brain, screaming that he was weak, that he was gluttonous, that he had failed in his promise to abstain. But self-hatred was not the same thing as regret. And he didn’t regret Sam. “I’m glad I’m with you. I feel a little guilty, maybe. But I don’t regret anything.” Because Castiel took responsibility for his actions. He had given in, had given up, and fed on lust and love, and he might never forgive himself for it, but he was not going to pretend he had not enjoyed it.

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry you feel guilty.”

“That’s my own problem. You don’t need to worry about that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He kissed the hair again, and they fell into silence for several minutes. Then he heard himself speaking again. “Gabriel Arch texted me last night after you fell asleep. He said he’s got catering for the auction.”

The younger man lifted his head and turned his handsome, sleepy face toward Castiel. “Really? That’s generous.”

“Gabriel isn’t generous. He’s got an objective. I just don’t know what it is. Maybe just a tax write-off or publicity for his gallery. In any case, he’s providing everything. Wine, cheese and fruit spreads, the whole nine.”

“Wow.”

“He’s also getting it publicized ahead of time. We won’t have to worry about any of that, except maybe to send the kids’ families announcements home. And I texted Andy to let him know, and he wrote back that he, Ben, Ava and…what’s the girl’s name?”

“Krissy.”

“Right, the four of them spent most of Saturday together planning things. They have whole committees, and artwork is already in progress. It’s incredible what kids can do when they’re passionate about something.”

Sam was smiling at him softly. “You gave them a great idea, and they’re running with it. They’re working together. How did the faculty react when you told them?”

He shrugged. “There were a few eye rolls, but most of them just shrugged and went with it. The ones who I suspect have an issue are sort of just focusing on the animals and the art instead of the collaborative project. Two actually came to me after the meeting and told me they thought it was wonderful. I’m not sure if that’s because it’s meant to be an experiment in empathy and cooperation or if they think we’re trying to convert your heathen kids, but they’re on board.”

There was a smirk on the man’s face now. “Of course.” He sighed. “One day none of this will matter. It’s already miles better than it was in the nineties.”

Castiel smiled, and let out a chuckle. “You’re practically a teenager, aren’t you? The nineties. How old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty soon,” he protested.

“How soon?”

“Three years.”

He burst into laughter, shaking Sam from his chest. “Oh my Lord, you’re a child!”

Sam glowered at him. “I’m not a child. How old are you?”

The question sobered him quickly. “You probably don’t want to know.” He felt a twist in his stomach, and he sighed to himself.

“Really. How old are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s starting to.”

“I’m ten years your senior, Sam.”

Sam shrugged and lay back down on Castiel’s chest. “That’s not so big a deal.”

“When I was your age, you were seventeen.”

He could feel the cringe. “Okay, that just sounds creepy.”

“When I was seventeen, you were-"

“Okay, breakfast then!” Sam stood out of the bed in one motion.

Castiel laughed at him. It felt good to laugh. He wasn’t sure how long it had been. But he knew he didn’t want to give it up just yet.

***

Sam was putting on his tie, and he couldn’t get the dumb smile off of his face. He had stayed at Castiel’s Sunday night, because they were unwilling to let the real world interrupt their private little universe. That meant he had to get up by five to get back to his apartment in time to get ready for work. Castiel had to be up even earlier.

Bones was watching him from the bed.

“You know, buddy, you never really know a guy till you see him late for work on a Monday morning.” He patted the dog’s head and laughed. “But you know me on a Monday morning, don’t you? I’m totally organized and alert.”

Even the dog did not seem convinced.

“Shh. Don’t tell Cas. He’s kind of a mess on Monday mornings. I want him to think I’m the more put together of the two of us.”

Castiel had been adorably panicked when the alarm went off. He had stared in horror at the clock, then at Sam. “What the hell are you still doing here?” he had sputtered.

Sam had burst into laughter. “I seem to remember you saying the real world could wait one more night.”

The blue eyes- _those amazing blue eyes_ -had squinted. “Yeah, well, it’s here now. You need to leave.”

“If I’d known you were such a romantic, I’d have brought a change of clothes.”

Castiel had shaken his head. “I’m…Look, I’m sorry. I have routines. Night routines. Morning routines. And you’re not in any of them. Nobody’s in any of them. I don’t even know how…What do we even do now?”

The younger man had continued to laugh at him. “Now I get up and get dressed and go home, and you do whatever it is you do on Monday mornings.”

“I’m already not doing what I do on Monday mornings!”

Sam’s eyebrows had shot up. “Wow. I thought we had covered all the crazy this weekend. You’ve got more, apparently.”

The blush on Castiel’s face was just delicious. “I’m not…I have routines,” he said again.

He had kissed his lips softly. “Okay. I’m going to get out and you can try again.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he had grumbled helplessly. “What were we thinking? What’s the matter with me?”

So Castiel had been too caught up in his own messy Monday morning to notice Sam’s bedhead, gawky limbs and sleepy clumsiness. Now that he had showered and was in his suit, he felt better. He would be on time to work, and if he could get his hands to wake up, he would even have his tie on.

Twenty minutes later, he had a shake with coffee in it in hand while pulling in to work. He glanced across the street at the Catholic school, which he knew was already buzzing inside, and he smiled. He hoped Castiel had pulled himself together all right. He took out his phone to tap out a message.

“Sorry about throwing off your routine this morning. Hope it was worth it.”

He turned off the car and practically skipped into the center, drink in hand. He had gotten to his office and settled in to check his messages, when he heard his phone buzz on the desk.

His smile fell from his lips as he read Castiel’s response.

“Worth it will depend greatly on what happens when Michael returns.”

He frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Then he sighed. One way to find out. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he tapped. Then he hesitated and erased his text to rewrite it. “What do you mean by that?”

Immediately, there was a buzz. “Sam, I’ll call you after. Things are coming down around me and I can’t now.”

Sam’s heart began pounding. Was Castiel just being dramatic about his morning routines being knocked off kilter, or was something actually happening?

The morning went by too slowly. He returned calls and emails, checked in with Luke, and gave his update to the board of directors about community outreach, including the collaborative project with St. Benedict’s. They were skeptical but interested in seeing how things went, and they applauded Sam for his initiative. Luke had rolled his eyes at that, but had not said anything. By noon, his phone was still silent.

“I’m taking lunch,” he muttered to Luke. “A whole lunch this time. I’ll be back at one.”

“You going out?”

“No, barricading myself in. I’d just like to not be interrupted.”

Luke shrugged at him. “Something up?”

Sam took note of the sneer on his face, and he frowned. “Why? Is there something going on I don’t know about?” He realized Luke had been looking at him sidelong all morning.

“Oh, no. I’m sure you know all about it.”

“What’s that mean?”

The man laughed in a tone Sam didn’t like. “Nothing. Enjoy your lunch.”

Sam was walking into his office with his stomach in a knot when he heard Luke calling after him.

“Oh, and be sure to give Gabriel Arch a call before you go on lunch! He’s looking for you.”

The singsong voice Luke was using made Sam feel as though he had missed some big joke at his own expense. He closed his door and sat at his chair with a deep frown. First Castiel, now Luke. What was going on?

He looked through his business cards and dialed Gabriel’s number.

“Gabe.”

Sam’s smile was more of a grimace. “Mr. Arch, this is Sam Winchester, from-"

“From Triad?”

“Yes, I heard you were looking-"

“From Triad?” he repeated.

Everything was beginning to feel like a dream. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, not the Sam Winchester from the soap opera.”

“What? No, I-"

Gabriel was laughing as if he had made a joke he knew Sam would not understand. It seemed that there was a lot of that going on. “Sam, I called while you were in a meeting and spoke with Luke since you were indisposed.”

Luke had left the board meeting to take a call. Sam had barely noticed at the time, but now it occurred to him that was when Luke had begun his smirking. “Yes?”

“I guess you’re aware how small this city is, Mr. Winchester?”

“I am. Of course I am. What are you…?”

Gabriel heaved a sigh. “There isn’t a Catholic in this little city who doesn’t know Michael Arch. You’re aware of that too?”

His heart was fluttering out of control now. “I guess?”

“And in a conservative little midwestern city, there’s no shortage of gossips.”

“Mr. Arch, please.”

“Castiel Spanner’s closet door has been ripped off its hinges, Sam.”

It took three beats of silence before Sam even realized what that meant, and two more to remind himself to breathe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rushed.

“Of course you don’t. This isn’t New York or San Francisco, Sam. For god’s sake, it isn’t even really Lawrence. This is Baldwin, kiddo. Folks here can’t handle different. If anybody knows that, it’s you and me.”

Sam’s chest was heaving. “What happened? What’s going on with Castiel?”

“The word went out on the grapevine that he had himself a sleepover with a young lawyer this weekend.”

He could barely even hear himself speaking over his pounding heart. “Even…even if that were true, which I decline to confirm or deny, whose business is it?”

For the first time, it sounded like there was some compassion in Gabriel’s voice. “Sam, how long have you lived here?”

“I grew up in Lawrence, went to school out in California. But I’ve been here ever since!”

“Then you know the answer to that.”

Everything was Michael Arch’s business. He swallowed with difficulty. “I don’t know why you’re talking to me about this.”

“Sure you do, Sammy. Because Michael’s out of town for a few weeks. Hanging out in Europe, actually. Italy. But when he comes back, he’s going to do to you what he did to me all those years ago. I can’t make that better, but you should at least know it’s coming. Castiel Spanner is a good man, a great teacher by all accounts, and, if I’m not mistaken, a military hero. And all of that stopped meaning anything this morning, because somebody else found out something I knew the minute I met him.”

“Is it really going to be that bad?” he whispered.

“I know the kind of work you do, Sam. I know you know the answer to that. And before you start climbing on your legal high horse, it’s a private school, and perceived immorality is absolutely grounds for termination.”

There was silence on Sam’s end. His mind was reeling with arguments and damage control, but his heart knew it was far too late for that.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “So, really, what I called to say is that regardless of what crapstorm hits the fan in the next few weeks, my gallery is reserved for Triad kids, not St. Benedict kids, on May 25. So everything is in your name. Spanster or no Spanster, your kids have a show to put on.”

He nodded numbly. “Good. Thank you. Mr. Arch, thank you. For calling me.”

“Hey. Call me Gabe. You’re about to get screwed over by my brother. That practically makes you family.”

“That’s a really sad family you’ve got, Gabe.”

“Don’t I know it. Gotta go. I’m meeting with the Lawrence and Topeka art society board presidents this afternoon. _Ciao_ , little brother.”

Sam closed his eyes, and he let the phone drop into its cradle too hard. He took a deep breath and grabbed his cell phone. He sent out a quick text. “Cas, we’ll figure this out. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

There was no reply.


	14. The Quiet Observer, The One Who Notices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel deals with the beginnings of the fallout.

Castiel’s world was coming down upon his shoulders. Teachers were whispering, and some were openly glowering at him. He had never made friends here, nor anywhere, unless those staff at the animal shelter counted, which they really didn’t. But at least Friday most of the faculty still smiled at him when he walked through the halls of the school. Now, at best, there were soft glances of sympathy, and, at worst, sneers of disgust.

One weekend. One, in all this time, and he had destroyed everything. Just as one tragic hesitation on his last mission had stolen his friend and the sky from him, along with part of his mind which was now bruised with self-loathing and suspicion, one gluttonous weekend had stolen his career, his students. It was what made him useful, what made him worth having been saved, and now Balt’s sacrifice was finally, truly senseless.

Michael did not know yet. If he knew, he would have made the long-distance call to slam down his judgement. Michael called himself Headmaster, but everyone knew his assistant Zachariah dealt in all the daily minutiae. The Arch name brought in money, donations and prestige, and Michael facilitated all of it as the patriarch of the family. Michael was connected to families, old, wealthy ones, not to children and teenagers. Unless there were photographers present, Castiel had learned Michael literally never touched or spoke to the students at all. It was the reason Castiel had been hired in the first place. As he got older, Michael could be bothered less and less to perform any actual administration of the school, but he refused to give up his title as Headmaster. So Castiel was brought in to teach religious history courses, and after less than a year, Michael had pounced on him with “an opportunity for advancement” which had not appealed to him, but which obviously was not a matter for negotiation if he wanted to keep his job at all.

And Castiel liked his job. He had enjoyed teaching at the college level, but too often those students were already jaded or corrupted by the time they got to him their senior year. Twenty-two year olds were simply interested in what came after graduation. So he had begun looking into small cities where he could teach younger students, and he particularly liked the idea of teaching at a Catholic private school like the one he had been raised in.

It was partly the familiarity and the fulfillment of his promise, and it was partly a desire to help students like him who had fallen through the cracks because they were smart and quiet, who did too well academically and in sports to call attention to themselves, but who desperately needed someone to notice that they were hurting. He had been that teacher for many of these students, he knew, the only one who had truly noticed them in all their years of schooling. He was a strong lecturer, and the students enjoyed his teaching style. He was not the teacher students would generally point out as being the most popular. He was quiet and had extremely high expectations for behavior, respect and achievement in the classroom. But there were always students in his classroom before the day began, during lunch, and after classes. They just lingered in his presence, feeling safe and acknowledged, and they told him things he suspected they never said to anyone else.

It had devastated him to drop down to teaching just two classes. He had already decided if they eliminated those from his schedule to make him a full time administrator, he would leave. He hated to do it, though. He had fallen in love with the school, with the students and their families. When he was inside his classroom, he could pretend it was the whole world, that he could keep his students safe and let them explore their faith, their history and themselves in a way he himself had never been permitted to do. Once he stepped out of the classroom, he was at the mercy of the world outside, and its callous, prying judgement. He had enough judgement inside his own heart. He had promised himself he would never expose himself to it from others.

Now he stood outside Father Raphael’s office, and he wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just quit and move on, better to cut his losses and run. But Castiel Spanner had never run from anything in his life, and he would not begin now. Not when he had done nothing to deserve being chased.

“Come in, Castiel,” Raphael’s impossibly deep voice beckoned.

Castiel took a breath. He supposed Raphael knew he was intimidating, that most others would shrink in his presence. But Castiel knew himself inside and out, knew his flaws, his limitations, his every weakness and fault. And so did his God. So there was nothing Raphael could do to frighten him. He would not be judged by this man in a collar who thought he knew him better than he and his God did. So he stood for inspection just as he had so many years ago when he wore his uniform, and looked into Raphael’s eyes evenly. “Hello, Father.”

The priest stared hard into his eyes for a moment. Castiel did not blink. Raphael had waited until one o’clock to call him in, and he supposed the Father thought he had been sweating all morning long.

Finally, the man sighed in a voice that Castiel knew was not genuine. “I’m concerned for you, Castiel.”

“There’s no need to be, Father. I missed Mass yesterday, but I’ll make it up Wednesday night.” It wasn’t the point, but he got an itch of satisfaction out of pretending he did not know why he was being called in to the chapel office. He wanted to make the bastard say it.

“It’s more why you missed Mass yesterday that concerns me, Dr. Spanner.”

“Yes, Father?” he said, allowing his eyes to burn cold into the dark ones before him. He had not liked Father Raphael from the moment he had heard his first homily. Had he met the priest before taking the job, he probably would not have. Now he was glad he could provide a bit of balance for his students on Monday mornings. Raphael was unlike any priest he had ever known. He was vicious in his sermons. Castiel took communion at St. Benedict’s, but he confessed north of Lawrence with a more moderate priest, and he took his religious education from books, gospels and the stories of the saints. Castiel was a deeply religious man, and he resented what men like Raphael did to his Church.

“Castiel,” Raphael sighed again, “did you know your name is an angel’s moniker?”

“Of course. Angel of Thursday.”

Raphael sneered at him. “Well, today just isn’t your day, is it?”

He shrugged. “It’s going well so far. Most of my kids seemed to have passed their midterms and their quarter grades were good.” He refused to blink as he smiled into the priest’s eyes. “And the community service project for this year has been going quite well.”

“Castiel, there are rumors…”

 _Rumors_. His lips curled into a smirk. That was the word he needed. “Rumors, sir? If I remember one of your recent Wednesday morning sermons, you warned the students against listening to the words of idle gossip. So if there’s nothing else, Father, I have quite a bit of work to do.”

Raphael’s eyes flashed in anger. “The angel Castiel is the observer, meant to watch and guard without interference. Not meant to be a corrupting influence.”

Something in Castiel was stretching too tight. His smile faded until he was glowering at the man. “Castiel is also the angel of mournful tears, so let’s end the metaphor. My name is not meant to be my personality. I was hired to be an influence on my students. If you have something to accuse me of, something of which you have proof, something which would show that I am a corrupting influence on my students, rather than their caretaker, please bring it to me now. Otherwise, I’d like to get back to my work.”

The man took a deep breath through his nose, and seemed to calm a bit. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I simply said that I was concerned. And my concern is that you have experienced a corrupting influence of your own. The students are not my only charges, Castiel. I’m here as the shepherd of your soul as well. And if any of the worrying things I’ve heard the past day are true, I’d like to remind you of one last thing the angel Castiel is.”

He stared in shock at the priest who claimed to be worried about his salvation. “What’s that?”

“The angel of solitude.”

Castiel watched Raphael turn and walk back into the chapel, without another word. The teacher took a deep, shuddering breath, and stumbled back to his own office. He needed to call Sam.


	15. Auto Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has his hands full.

There was grease under his nails. It never used to bother him before, and it still didn’t bother him while he was working, but now that his shift was ending, he was scrubbing at his hands in an irritable way he knew he wouldn’t have a few years ago. Today was slow, and Bobby had left early complaining of a headache brought on by too little whiskey. Dean had smirked at him and waved him on. Nothing else was likely to come in on a Monday so near closing time. If he could get the damn grease off his hands, he would balance out the register and head out too.

“I think they’re clean,” a gruff voice said behind him.

Dean startled badly, ripping his hands out of the garage sink, and spraying water out over himself and the guy behind him as he whirled. “What the hell?”

The man glanced down at the soapy water on his sweater vest and sighed. It seemed as if this were just another notch in his bad day tally, almost as if it were to be expected. He did not even bother wiping at it.

 A warm flush filled Dean’s freckles. “I’m so sorry. You scared the crap out of me. Couldn’t hear you over the water.”

“No one was at the front, so I just…” The man sighed again, and adjusted his wire glasses on his nose. “You’re closing, I guess.”

He meant to say yes, but the guy looked so pitiful that he heard something else entirely come out of his mouth. “Of course not. What do you need?”

The question struck the man as amusing, and he chuckled without humor for a moment before responding. “I stood here and watched you wash your hands for like ten minutes. You’re obviously closing, and I can’t even begin to tell you what I need. So I’ll come back tomorrow, or hit someplace in Lawrence.”

Dean glanced down at his hands, and realized they were far cleaner than he had thought a moment ago. “Oh. No, I’m good. I don’t have anyplace to be.” And wasn’t that the truth? “Let me at least look at the problem, and give you an estimate or something.”

The man nodded and led the way back to the lot, where his was the only operable vehicle other than Dean’s Impala. And even if it hadn’t been the only one, Dean would know immediately which car belonged to the man who looked like he had been through a meat grinder.

“Shit. That…that really sucks, man.”

The only response was yet another sigh.

He looked at him and winced at his expression. He checked again that his hands really were clean, then offered one to him to shake. “Name’s Dean Winchester. And today’s your lucky day. I happen to be off the clock, so I’ll correct your artwork here, I’ll do it tonight, and won’t even charge you labor for it. It’ll be my gift to a guy whose day sucked worse than mine.”

The man with the blue eyes sat down hard on the bench outside the entrance and began to weep into his trembling hands.

***

Sam’s SUV tore into the garage parking lot. The bay door was wide open, and he could see Dean was already at work, but he could also see the damage that had been done to Castiel’s car. It was just as well that he had torn the keys from the ignition and leapt out of his vehicle, since his vision suddenly blurred with rage.

Dean looked up at the commotion in the lot. “Sammy! Hey, man. You okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay!”

His brother took off his goggles and gloves and headed toward him.

“Where is he?”

“What? Who? Sam, what’s wrong?”

“The guy that car belongs to!”

Dean blinked at him. “He’s in the lobby staring a hole in Bobby’s wall. How’d you even know about this? It’s like freaking ESP with you lawyers! Some asshole tags a car with slurs and your bat signal goes up? That how it works?”

Sam’s wrath was not meant for Dean, but he turned it on him anyway. “That guy got his car tagged because he spent the weekend with me in his bed!” he snapped.

Green eyes widened, and the crinkles around them disappeared as Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Sam said more quietly. “That’s Castiel Spanner, the guy I’m working on that project with, the one over at the Catholic school. And spoiler alert. Turns out he’s not straight. But he was in the closet, until some neighbor saw me leaving his house or something; I don’t even know. So now it’s all over his school, and he’s probably going to get fired, and then he went out to his car while he was calling to try to tell me what was going on, and this is what he saw. I didn’t get anything else out of him on the phone, just this horrible gasp and what his car looked like. I told him to bring it here, and that I’d come as soon as I could. I’m paying for it, whatever it is. He wouldn’t be dealing with this if I had somehow been more discreet.” Not that he had known he wasn’t being discreet. He still couldn’t figure out how someone had managed to put the scene together, but it did not really matter now.

 Castiel Spanner, the man who gave every piece of himself to his students, his animals and his Church, who denied himself every pleasure in life other than pride in his work, had been forced to drive to Singer’s All-Service in a car laced in black permanent marker with every cruel taunt ever slung at a gay man. Sam was so angry he could feel himself swaying slightly.

Dean was shaking his head, and he grabbed at his brother’s arm to steady him. “Hey! Hey, no, I’m not charging him. I told him I wouldn’t charge labor, ‘cause he looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t let me do the whole thing for free, but I’m not even going to enter it into the computer. I’ll balance it with Bobby. He said he didn’t call the police. He told me not to bother photographing it for the insurance, because he wasn’t going to call them, just wanted to pay out of pocket and pretend it never happened. Then he went in and sat down and looked like he couldn’t get up if he tried.”

Tears of anger were filling Sam’s eyes. He clenched his jaw, and could not speak.

“Sammy, hey. I’m going to fix this guy up, and I’m going to finish it tonight. But it’s going to take a long while. For it to harden, I’m going to need at least two hours each coat, even with the equipment Bobby’s got, and I want to do two good coats. He can pick it up around ten if he wants, or he can come by to pick it up tomorrow morning. If he’s staying, order the three of us some dinner. If not, he’ll need a ride.”

Sam nodded, blinking away the tears. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll see what he wants to do.” He hugged his brother, and held on a little tighter than usual. “Thank you, Dean. You’re…Just thank you.”

The older man gave him a small, sympathetic smile, then jutted his chin toward the door. “Go make sure he’s okay.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.


	16. Fraud Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel explains to Sam why this is happening. Dean plays the big brother role.

Ice blue eyes raised very, very slowly as Sam stepped into the lobby. He bolted the door behind him. Bobby's place was scheduled to be closed in five minutes anyway.

The empty expression on his face actually frightened Sam. "Cas?" he said in a low voice.

The man blinked several times as if keeping his eyes open at all were a chore. It was the only movement Sam could see at all. Strangely, Castiel looked younger this way, almost too young. He looked for all the world like a child who had been smacked across the face and suspected he might have deserved it, but still wanted an explanation.

Sam dropped down to crouch next to his chair. He placed his hand on the man's knee. Finally, Castiel moved, in a flinch, and Sam pulled his hand back quickly. "I'm sorry."

The eyes were dark with something that looked entirely too much like betrayal.

"Castiel, I'm sorry," he said again. "I hope you know I never meant for this to happen."

He took a breath, but said nothing.

"Cas, please. I'm a huge advocate for anyone who wants to go public with their true selves, but please believe me that I never, ever would judge someone for remaining closeted, ever, and I certainly would never out some-"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

It was spoken quietly, in a deep, sandpaper voice, but it rang with sincerity, even if his expression did not change. Sam sighed. "Thank you. I mean...I mean, I'm glad. That you don't think I did this on purpose somehow. That I told anyone."

He had told someone. Charlie. But he had not used Castiel's name. He would never do that. He felt strongly, vehemently, that it was no one else's place to decide for someone else when or if that information was made public.

Heterosexual people were not forced to declare their heterosexuality or explain it. No one else should have to do so either.

"I am sorry. Just tell me what you want to do. Do you want me to deny it if someone asks me? Like...like Michael? I could deny it proactively, call him and say I heard rumors and wanted to assure him nothing-"

"I do not lie about who I am, Sam. I will apologize for many things, but this is not one of them. I am who I am, and if it is a fault, it is the least of many. I don't lie about it."

Sam frowned. "Never?"

The gaze had glassed over, but now it fixed on him again. "Never. Sam, I have never claimed to be something I'm not. I omit truths which are none of anyone's business. But I do not lie. Not about this, nor any other part of me. And I would never ask you to do so."

"How could you be closeted for your whole life and never have lied about it?"

Castiel shrugged. "Balt tried on many occasions to hook me up with women. And he isn't the only one to try to do so. I simply informed them I wasn't interested. If they pressed me further, I said she was not my type. If they continued to press, which few ever did, I told them to stop pressing. I don't explain myself, and certainly not twice. I have never needed to. Subordinates, colleagues, students and superiors never question my reasons or my integrity. And I don't have friends. Not since I killed the last one."

Sam reached for Castiel's hand and found it trembling, belying the calm in his voice. "Cas, have you always been so lonely?"

There came another flinch, but Sam didn't think this one was because of the touch. "I've always been alone," the man corrected softly, staring down at his hands. "I haven't always been so lonely."

"Do I..." Sam took a breath, then forced out the question he did not want answered. "Have I made that worse?"

The eyes closed, and lips tightened hard until they began to quake. The anguish was so clear that Sam could feel it choking his own airway. The muscles in Castiel's throat strained against the emotion until he gasped in a shuddering breath, then let it out in sobs. He raised his left palm to rest just above the bridge of his nose, as if he could force the feeling away if he pressed hard enough. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, washing his face, and finally he dropped Sam's hand to push them away. It was a feeble, futile gesture. Both hands gave up their attempts, and instead each took hold of a bit of dark hair and pulled. His next gasp was followed with a choked moan, which he tried to swallow. At last, the blue eyes opened again, lashes fluttering uselessly against the tears, and Sam's heart shattered.

Sam felt himself drop further into the floor. He felt heavier than he had ever felt before, and he thought he might do anything, anything in the world, to make this better. Every exposed inch of his skin stung with the want to touch Castiel, to wrap him into his arms and hold his face against his chest.

But if what he had done already had made Castiel hurt like this, he needed to pull back. Castiel had been getting along before he met Sam. Maybe he had not been happy, but he had not been...this. Knowing Sam did this. Meeting Sam and blending their worlds did this. It was no wonder Castiel acted as though Sam's touch burned him.

"I can't," Castiel hissed finally.

Sam's gaze hit the floor.

But Castiel reached for his chin to lift it. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I just can't. I never wanted this. I'm so sorry you got pulled into my issues." The man's whole body shook violently now with every convulsive breath. "Thank you for everything. I just can't."

He swallowed hard. “Cas, I’m not asking for anything. I just…don’t want you to go through this alone. It isn’t your issue; it’s ours.”

A small shake of the head was his answer.

Tears pinched at the backs of his eyes without mercy. “Please. You don’t have to be alone!”

“Of course I do!” the older man wailed. “Don’t you understand what this is? This is what I deserve! Every bit of it! Not because I’m gay, because I broke my promise! I swore to Balt and I swore to God, Sam! I’ve taken something I wasn’t supposed to have, something I wasn’t ever even supposed to be here to…I took something he can’t have. I know you don’t believe. I don’t know what you believe, if you believe in anything. But I know in my heart that what God cares about most is fidelity. Integrity, sincerity. I broke my vow, and so He exposed me as a fraud. And I’m going to lose everything.” His lips were trembling relentlessly as his tongue reached out to taste the salt on them. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have driven that car just as it was. There isn’t a word on there that isn’t true.”

The lawyer’s mouth dropped open, but he could not even begin to protest.

But Castiel was not finished. “They’re ignorant, hateful words, but in the end, they’re true. I’m a fraud. I’m weak. I know it, and God knows it. And that was all that ever mattered before. I know, and God knows. And now everyone else does too. There’s nothing to deny, Sam. The person who wrote those things on my car doesn’t even know the half of it. I’m gay, and they think that’s the worst secret I have? God knows better. But He’s using that as my punishment. I deserve exactly what’s happening. It doesn’t matter why other people think I’m losing everything. I know why.”

“Castiel, please don’t do this. You made me a promise too, remember? On Sunday morning, yesterday morning, you said you’d try. To forgive yourself and move on; you said you’d try to let someone care about you.”

Incredibly, a soft laugh erupted from Castiel’s mouth. “Yesterday morning.” He sniffed and let his trembling hands wipe away his tears. The fingers intertwined and rested at his lips, almost as though he were praying. “It’s been a very long day, Sam.” There was just one beat of silence before quiet sobs began again.

This time, Sam could not help it. He leapt onto the bench next to his lover, and wrapped his long arms around him, pulling him tight against his own warmth. To his surprise and relief, Castiel let him. He let his weight fall into Sam, and he wept apologies on his suit jacket. Sam closed his eyes and held him.

***

Dean deliberately made plenty of noise as he walked back into the lobby. His head ached. He needed to wait for the machines to catalyze the paint job before he added another coat, and it only made sense to wait in Bobby’s lobby, but he didn’t want to sneak up on his brother.

Sam had ordered food, and was laying it out on the small break table while Castiel lay with his eyes closed, curled up on the cushioned bench, with his trench coat draped over him as a blanket. Dean smiled sympathetically. Poor guy was exhausted.

His kid brother looked up as he walked in. “Sh.”

He nodded, and grabbed a piece of the pizza from the box. Then he gestured to Sam to come back into the bay with him to talk. Once they were out of earshot, he sighed. “I’ve seen some cars messed up by kids, but that was ridiculous. How can anybody have that much hate in them?”

Sam gave him a half smile. His worry wrinkles in his forehead were beginning to smooth slightly. “You’d be surprised,” he responded. “I wish I could say this is the first time some guy went through something like this.”

“I know. So? What are you going to do? How can I help?”

Now he had earned a real smile. “You are helping, Dean. Thank you for that. He didn’t tell you I sent him, huh?”

Dean shook his head, chewing his dinner.

“You’re a good man, you know that?”

His gaze flew up to examine Sam’s expression. “What? Why?”

Sam laughed. “Helping out some guy you don’t know. You should be home with your feet up watching television and drinking a beer with my dog, and nobody would blame you if you were. Instead, you’re here hours after you should be home, helping a stranger get his car cleaned up so he doesn’t have to feel humiliated driving to work tomorrow.”

He appreciated Sam’s analysis of the situation, but his mind caught on one detail. “Guy’s going to work tomorrow? That a good idea?” 

“I can’t even imagine him not going to work tomorrow.”

Dean nodded. “I ain’t going to let some guy drive around with hate on his ride. This wasn’t a wash me note. This was…Sam, this was bad.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Is he even going to be safe going to work?”

Sam took a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. I deal with this crap all the time, but I always felt like it’s getting better. You know? Like that type of hate isn’t as strong anymore, not like decades ago. And that’s true, I know it is, but then I see this, and I feel like everything we’ve all worked for all these years is worth nothing if a good man can still be humiliated for spending the night with someone he enjoys. I feel like I jumped into the pit and fought, for years, and it was all for nothing if I can’t save the one guy I care about.” He looked back at the lobby door, at Castiel sleeping on the bench. “He just wants his privacy. He just wants to be left alone. Why can’t the world just let the guy teach? It’s all he wants.”

“Isn’t it illegal to fire somebody for being gay? That’s what he’s worried about, right? He’s going to get fired?” 

“It isn’t illegal. Not in this state. Not in a lot of states. Not where he works. He works with teenagers, Dean. They’re going to burn the guy at the stake, and there’s nothing I can do. I mean, there are harassment suits and whatnot, but if he wouldn’t even let you take photos of the car, he’s not going to go for that. He just wants to do his job.”

Dean finished the last bite of the pizza, and turned to the utility sink to wash his hands. “You like this one, don’t you?”

“That isn’t the point, Dean-“

“I know it’s not the point. But let’s make it the point. You like him.” He didn’t bother to look at Sam’s face. He stared down at his hands while he soaped them up. Scrubbing his fingernails became his focus while he waited for Sam to confirm what he already knew.

At last, the younger man took a breath. “I really like him, man. He’s…I’ve never met anybody who felt things as strongly as he does. He’s so disciplined and strong and quiet, but under that, he’s…”

“Like you.”

He could hear Sam’s smile. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning against the wall next to the sink. “He’s like me. You should hear him talk about teaching. He told me about his students yesterday over lunch, and about his teaching philosophy and everything, and he just…” Sam was shrugging. “He’s as passionate about those kids as I am about mine. He was a pilot in the Air Force before teaching. Apparently, he trained on planes, but he flew choppers as a search and rescue pilot.” He laughed quietly. “And he volunteers at the animal shelter three days a week. He just wants to help. How can someone hate somebody who has never wanted anything but to help?” Dean could hear the catch in his brother’s voice now. “How can you not love someone like that?”

Dean’s scarred heart ached at the pain in his brother’s voice. “I get the impression no one ever has.”

“What do you mean?”

“Loved him. Guy’s alone in the world. Or was, before you.”

 “How did you know that?”

It took one to know one. Dean just smiled shakily. “Hunch. Seems to me he could use a friend. Go wake him up, tell him soup’s on. I gotta wait for his ride to dry before I can add another coat.” Finally, he turned off the water and dried his hands. They were cracked from all the washing, and he could feel a sting at one of the fingers on his left, indicating that it had split a little at the knuckle. “Let’s go get him through this.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and squeezed it in a strong grip. “Thank you.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “I ain’t doing it for you. It’s the least I can do for the guy putting up with my jackass kid brother.”

The jackass kid brother’s lopsided smile was worth anything Dean was giving up to be there for this Castiel Spanner tonight. And who knew? Maybe Dean could use a friend too.


	17. Let the Chips Fall Where They Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean suggests a game of poker.

Castiel felt as though he had fallen down the rabbit hole. This was not his life. How did he get here? A week ago, if someone had played this scene for him, he would have not recognized a single character, including himself. But here he was, blinking sleepily through eyelids puffy pink from crying, watching as a pair of enormous men set out pizza, beer and poker chips inside an all-service auto shop.

"What are you doing?" he rasped quietly.

Sam looked up while the other man continued straightening the items at the table. "Hey. I was about to wake you. There's food," he said unnecessarily.

"I see that. And...?" He gestured toward the mechanic.

"Oh. Okay. Cas, this is my older brother Dean. He and a friend of the family, Bobby, run this place."

Dean shrugged. "Sam's here or at my place anytime he runs out of food at the apartment."

Sam threw him a look, then punched the man's arm. "Dude," he laughed. "Anyway, come get something to eat, will you?"

It was surreal. Castiel's head was swimming. "Car?" he murmured miserably.

"It's going to be a few more hours, man. But I promise. Not a trace."

He nodded. "Thank you. You still haven't told me what I owe you."

Dean dropped into a chair and held up a deck of cards. "You owe me a game."

He frowned. "What?"

"Play a few games and we will call it even."

Castiel's eyes widened. "This has to be a thousand dollar job!"

The way Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's, then away, Castiel realized that was a low estimate.

"I can't let you do that."

The man shrugged. "Come on. I gotta wait for the coat to dry, and I'm bored."

Castiel wandered toward the table and Sam placed two slices of pizza in front of the chair, as well as a beer. Then he opened his own and sat across from Dean.

"What are we playing tonight?" he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the three of them to be doing this.

Dean shuffled while he gazed at Castiel. "Do you play?"

"I don't...No. Not anymore. In the Air Force, while we were in holding, it was how we passed a lot of the time, but I haven't played in years."

The older brother smiled. "Let's ease you back in. Five draw. Sam, split the chips."

Castiel watched his lover nod at the order, and his large hands deftly distributed the poker chips as if he had been doing so since he was a toddler. He found himself watching those hands in admiration.

Dean was watching them too. "Hey. Give me a minute. I'm going to wash up first. Been under hoods all day. Save me another piece."

"I ordered you your own pie, dude. I know my brother."

Castiel watched the man's mouth curve into a fond smile. "Yeah. I guess you do. I'll be right back."

When they were alone, Castiel raised his gaze to Sam's handsome face. "He functions quite well, considering."

Sam turned to stare at him. "What's that mean?"

The older man felt his face heat up. "I...I don't mean to be rude. I meant he obviously does well considering his condition."

"Cas, what are you talking about? Dean doesn't have any condition."

He should not have brought it up. It was completely obvious to him. But Sam had no idea. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I must be mistaken."

Sam frowned at him. "Cas, what is it?"

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, a nervous habit which had followed him all his life. "It's just that...One of the things I trained in as an officer, and for search and rescue and...well, I'm also a teacher, so..."

"Cas?"

"His hands are clean, Sam."

A look of realization passed over Sam's eyes. "Oh."

Castiel shrugged awkwardly. "Do you see the way he arranged everything at the table? Like he couldn't help it. And the cards. He shuffled eight times, then stopped, then another eight, then stopped, then again."

"You counted?"

A dry smile came over his face. "It takes one to know one, I suppose. I don't deal well with disruption in my routines, remember?"

It was clear from Sam's sympathetic cringe that he did remember.

"Did Dean always act this way, or is it recent?"

"I guess...I guess he's always had a thing about germs and structure. But he had a heart attack a few years back, and he wasn't really the same after. He fixates on stuff more now."

Castiel nodded. "When I first arrived, there was no one in here, so I went to the garage. I stood back and watched him scrub at his hands for almost fifteen minutes before I spoke up. I was so tired and upset, it took me that long to even want to speak to anyone, and I figured he would turn around eventually." He sighed. "It isn't any of my business. I just know how it is to feel like you've got no control over things in your own life, and to compensate for it with a compulsive personality."

Sam stared at him a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Thank you. I'm glad you said something."

He shrugged again, awkwardly. "Sam, I'm sorry I got so upset earlier."

"You had every right to be."

"If I wasn't clear earlier, not a bit of this is your fault." He surprised himself with a laugh. "It isn't your fault you're incredibly attractive. Although, it would be kind of you to try to hide it a bit more."

The blush creeping along Sam's face, and the way he ducked under his hair, was gratifying. "I'll do my best," he muttered with a shy smile.

Castiel liked the way the man could still be shy after their time together. "Sam?" he said quietly.

"Yeah, Cas."

He took two deep breaths before rushing forward. "I said I can't."

Sam's smile tightened into a wince. But he nodded. "I know. Like I said, I'm not asking for anything. I enjoyed this weekend, but I understand. Just please let me and Dean help you through the fallout. I've seen some awful things happen to folks who try to go it alone. I'm not asking for anything."

"I know you're not. I'm grateful for that. I just wanted you to know...I wish I could. I like you very much, Sam. More than I've ever..." He sighed. "I wish I could."

The hazel eyes lowered their gaze. "Story of my life. It's okay, Cas. Thank you for saying it. But I understand."

He hesitated a moment, then took Sam’s hand in his. “You’re a good man, Sam. No matter what happens or where I end up after all this, I will never regret time spent with you.”

It was obvious Sam intended to respond, but the door opened behind them, marking Dean’s return. Castiel dropped Sam’s hand and glanced at Dean’s.

Sam frowned. “Dude, you’re bleeding.”

Dean glanced down at his knuckles, then wiped at them with the paper towel in his hands. “I don’t know. Knocked myself on something while rearranging the guts of an engine today, I guess. I promise not to bleed on the cards. You ready to play?”

“Deal it up.”

The older brother smiled. He shuffled eight times, then passed the deck to Castiel, who tapped it twice automatically, to decline to cut. Apparently the nuances of a friendly game were not something which faded with time. While Dean lazily dealt and Sam chewed on his pizza thoughtfully, Castiel stared at the empty fourth chair across from him with a smile. Sam’s eyes followed his, then he touched Castiel’s arm briefly. “Balt would be glad,” the young man murmured, then he went back to his pizza and his cards without another word.

“Yes,” Castiel breathed. He closed his eyes and listened as the cards flicked over one another through Dean’s hands, and he could almost hear the British accent curling through the conversation between the brothers. He sighed, and tossed in his chip at his turn.


	18. Point at a Man and Call Him a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the week, from different points of view.

Andy's mouth had dropped open when he had seen Dr. Spanner's car. Shock was the first thing he registered, the only thing for nearly two full minutes. He looked up at his buddy Jake Talley.

Jake's jaw was clenched, and so were his fists. His eyes were flashing in fury that frightened Andy.

"That's...Isn't that Dr. Spanner's?" he said quietly.

"Yeah," Jake answered in a dangerous tone. "Yeah, I think it is."

"Why would somebody...?"

"I don't know. But it isn't right."

Andy took note of the various slurs scribbled all over the car. "Think he knows?"

"I think that's why he looked like somebody punched him in the hallway earlier."

"So he knows, and he's still working?"

Jake looked at him finally. "You ever known Dr. Spanner to miss a minute of work?"

Andy shrugged. "Guess not. Seems like he could get off for this though. And shouldn't the police be here?"

"Not if he didn't call them."

The smaller boy shook his head. "Why wouldn't he call them?"

Jake's eyes narrowed. "Because he thinks it was a student. And it's Dr. Spanner, so he isn't going to press charges, even if the kid deserves it."

"Why would anybody...I mean, it's Doc! Can you think of any kid doesn't love Doc?"

"No. But I can think of a lot of them who hate gay folks."

Andy sighed. He rubbed his finger over one of the nasty words on the car's hood, then tried scratching at it with his nail. "It's not going to come off, is it?"

"He's going to have to have it painted over."

Andy Gallagher was even-tempered by nature. Unlike his twin brother Ansem, he was a live-and-let-live kind of guy. And to be honest, he was not above a bit of vandalism himself if he had been smoking. The polar bear warrior woman had been genius, and the photos he took of it had made him happy every time he had looked at them. But this...

"This is abhorrent."

Jake glanced at him. "A what?" he teased wearily.

"You know what it means," Andy snapped. "I'm so pissed off. That man could be a flamboyant unicorn with rainbow angel wings and pixie dust, and you could never convince me this is okay."

"That's because it isn't. But thanks for that visual. I'll have gay unicorns in my head every time I see Dr. Spanner now."

"He can get this painted over, but it's still going to be there. Under the paint. This car is still going to have fag written in forty different ways all over it. Even if he can't see it."

"Yeah."

Andy took out his phone and began snapping photographs of the car from every angle.

"What are you doing?"

"Dr. Spanner wanted art. I'm going to make some damn art."

Jake's fists uncurled. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah.”

***

Krissy had known the Winchesters for four years now. Her father Lee had taken his car to Singer's place, and he and Dean had talked. When he had mentioned that Krissy had gotten into several fights at school, Dean had given Lee a business card for Triad with his brother's information on it. Krissy had liked Sam immediately, and she made a point to go bother Dean on occasion, so he didn’t get the chance to forget about her.

So when she had seen Sam’s face that week after Lily had come in to the center for the first time, she saw right through his smile. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

Sam blinked a few times, as if he were trying to focus. Then he shook his head. “Nothing, Krissy. What can I do for you? Lily doing okay?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Better than before. She’s actually going to do a piece for the gallery show thing. She does sketches. They’re really good.”

“I’m sure they are. I’m glad she’s getting involved.”

“So what’s the matter with you?”

He turned back to look at her. “Krissy, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

The man gave her a strained smile that looked like it barely contained his exhaustion. “I’m tired. That’s all. It’s nothing you’ve got to worry about. Let me know if you need help with anything, or if your friend does.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Feel better.” She reached up and gave him a quick hug, then dove for the door before she could see the shock she knew was on his face. Krissy did not hug people.

***

Max stared at Dr. Spanner as he taught. Anger tightened around his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. About a third of the way through class, Max asked to be excused from the room. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, then stared into his own eyes in the mirror. “Scott Carey,” he hissed into the glass. “This is all your fault.”

Dr. Spanner was everything to Max. Everything. There was never a day when Max did not arrive early to sit in his classroom before school, or eat his lunch in the little reading nook in the back of the room, and most days he tried to find an excuse to go into the man’s office after morning classes were over. Dr. Spanner was the only teacher, the only adult, who had ever noticed him. Ever. And he had done more than noticed him. He had saved him.

When the teacher had arrived almost two years ago, Max had been at the school on scholarship, because he was smart. Max was extremely smart, too smart. And he made people uncomfortable. He had lost his mother as a baby, and lived with his uncle, father and step-mother. The two men had always resented his intelligence. When his father got really drunk, he blamed Max for his mother’s death. Then the two men took turns beating the hell out of the boy, while his step-mother turned a blind eye to it all. Each year, the congregation associated with St. Benedict’s renewed his scholarship. He got perfect scores on everything, which gave the school’s test scores a boost, so they let him stay, but none of the staff liked to have him in class. He was awkward and sad, and everyone was relieved that he did not require their attention.   Except Dr. Spanner.

He had taken a quiet interest in Max, had asked him questions, and actually listened. When he handed Max a paper with a red A on it, he had given him a smile of pride instead of turning immediately to another student. For the first time, Max had begun to feel like someone cared if he was or wasn’t at school, if he was or wasn’t anywhere at all. When Dr. Spanner read his research papers, he took the time to write comments on them in a way that referenced his ideas and not just his grammar and annotation. When he had written on the commandment to honor one’s father and mother, Dr. Spanner had taken notice. Then, one day, he had done something he had never seen the teacher do before. He touched Max’s shoulder as he was leaving class.

Max had nearly crumbled with the pain brought on by the weight of the strong hand. “Aah!” he cried out.

Dr. Spanner had pulled his hand back, but nodded to himself. “Max, may I see?”

The boy had begun breathing shallowly. “I don’t…What?”

“Please, Max.”

He knew what the man meant. After a moment spent wondering if he could run and never come back, he closed his eyes and pulled back the collar of his polo and tee shirt to reveal the black bruising underneath. His entire shoulder, a large area of his back and his side were covered in fresh bruises and old scars. He stared intently at the floor.

“Max, who did this to you?” Dr. Spanner asked quietly. “Who does this?”

His lips were trembling, and he couldn’t swallow against the tears. “It’s okay. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who does this to you, Max?”

“My dad,” he squeaked. “My uncle. My step-mother, she just pretends it doesn’t happen. It happens all the time, almost every day.”

Dr. Spanner nodded, and his eyes were full of sadness. “Okay. Max, I need you to come with me now, okay? Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” It was less vocalized than it was felt. He trusted Dr. Spanner. He had never trusted anyone before, but he trusted this man. Dr. Spanner had taken him to the nurse, called in the guidance counselor, and had him take his shirt off for them. He had squeezed his eyes tight, and tried not to hear the gasps, just focused on Dr. Spanner telling him things were going to be all right, that things were going to be better. “I just don’t want to be afraid anymore,” he whimpered.

“Don’t be afraid, Max. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you anymore.”

And he hadn’t. Max lived in a foster home now, with a couple and another kid, and they didn’t mind if he talked or didn’t, and they never hit him when he messed up. They even said they were proud of his grades.

Dr. Spanner was a hero. Not just his. Max had heard that he had medals from his time in the military. He had tried to ask him about it once, but the man had just smiled and said he would rather hear about how his life at home was working out.

How could anybody treat a man like Dr. Spanner, a hero, the way everyone was treating him now? It was Scott Carey’s fault. His grandmother had been the neighbor who had gossiped about the teacher at Mass on Sunday, and Scott had marked up his car on Monday morning. He knew it was Scott. Everyone knew it was Scott. But strangely, the security cameras had caught nothing, and Dr. Spanner pretended as though it had never happened. But Max had seen it as he walked through the parking lot in the afternoon. Every student, every staff member had seen it. And Max had known immediately who it was.

Over the course of the next several days, Dr. Spanner had taught and performed his administrative duties just the same as always. But he was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes, and rumors said that he had been forced to change his phone number because of all the hateful calls he had received. Max had a theory about those too. Scott. Scott Carey was the ringleader in all this. He was a junior who had liked to shove and trip Max through all of middle school. He had a few idiot friends whose families were all connected and donated money to the church and the school, and so they could never be dismissed from St. Benedict’s, no matter what they did wrong. Scott was getting his buddies to call and harass the only person who had ever been kind to Max Miller, and now he was so angry he could not see straight.

Every day, Dr. Spanner looked far older than the day before, and Max worried that he had not slept since this whole thing had begun. The man had discreetly begun removing small personal objects from his classroom. Wednesday morning, the beautiful globe and the set of leather-bound gospels had not been in their usual place. Thursday morning, the diplomas were gone from the wall. Friday morning, Dr. Spanner had no personal books or objects in the room at all. With each item that disappeared, Max felt part of his own heart break. Dr. Spanner was preparing to leave, and he wanted it to be as subtle a transition as possible. But it was painful for him. Max could see it in his face. By Friday, he was stumbling over his words a bit as he lectured, and Max had caught him standing and staring at his empty classroom after his second class. Max decided not to go in for lunch. Dr. Spanner apparently needed some time alone, and he didn’t know what to say anyway.

***

Castiel did not want to look at Zachariah. He did not want to look at anyone. But this needed to be done, and he did not have the option of waiting another day. It was Friday. He needed to do it now. “Zach,” he intoned on his way into the office. “I’d like you to please do something for me.”

Michael’s assistant turned to smirk at him in mock deference. “Absolutely anything, Mr. Spanner.”

The blue eyes lowered. “I would like to take some leave. I’ve never taken a day off. I don’t even know what I need to do in order to use my leave.”

Zachariah snorted. “Well, that’s not the worst decision you’ve made. How long do you want to take off?”

Castiel was torn between wanting to get through this professionally and wanting to throw his fist into the man’s face. “How much leave have I accumulated?” he asked quietly.

The assistant clicked on his computer for a moment, then looked up. “You really haven’t ever taken a day. You’ve got four weeks. Two from last year, and two this-“

“I’ll take them.”

“What, all four? You can’t do that! Michael or Father Raphael would have to sign off on that!”

Castiel swallowed with difficulty. “Father Raphael will sign off on it,” he said hoarsely. “I spoke to him yesterday morning and again today, and he feels that some leave would be to my benefit. Rachel will teach my first class, and Hester my second until I can return.”

“If.”

His stomach churned, and he stared hard at his own hands. “I plan to return.”

“Of course you do.”

He closed his eyes briefly, then took a breath. “Please arrange for the four weeks’ absence, beginning on Monday, and have Father Raphael sign it. I will return on the twenty-third, then. I’ll be in constant contact with Rachel and Hester, and I’ll be sure to delegate all administrative duties. I foresee no problems. And Michael returns on the twenty-third as well, so please…” He took a deep breath. “Please put me down in his first appointment slot that day.”

Before Zachariah could respond, Castiel had grabbed up his laptop bag and exited the office. He had removed every personal item from his office and his classroom. There wasn’t much, no photos or anything of the sort. Mostly books. He considered taking the student artwork that was hanging in his classroom. He wanted to. But he could not be sure it technically belonged to him, not anymore. It was art from a school that did not want him, given to him by students who had not known the real him. So he had taken photos of each item, then left the originals on the walls. Beyond that, he had just the last of his books to carry.

Zachariah’s voice followed him, and he stopped cold. “I guess we’ll be canceling that community service project then,” he taunted.

Castiel’s blue eyes closed.

“No. I’ve decided to step in as faculty advisor for that, Zach,” a voice said firmly.

He whirled around to find a lovely young woman he barely knew standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips, staring down Zachariah until he smirked and went back to his work. Then she turned to Castiel. He took a breath. “Hannah. Thank you. The kids will be grateful.”

There was a quiet anger burning in her eyes. “It’s the right thing to do,” she said.

His heart was aching. “I’m grateful.”

She put her hand on his arm, and he had to resist the urge to flinch away. “It’s a good project. Dr. Spanner, I know you don’t remember me, but I was a student of yours back in Massachusetts. I teach U.S. History here. I took a military history course with you a few years ago. I have family up north, but I’m from this area. I came back to teach here, and when I found out you were on the staff, I was delighted. My first year has flown by, and I never really got the chance to reintroduce myself. But I want to now.”

Recognition finally dawned over Castiel. “Hannah,” he breathed again. “Vietnamese mothers Hannah.”

She beamed at him, and he was taken aback by the way she nearly glowed. “You do remember me! Yes, my thesis was about the Vietnamese mothers left behind caring for the children of American soldiers.”

“It was inspired, Hannah. I won’t soon forget that one.”

Her smile was sincere, and it struck him that this might be the friendliest smile he had received in a week, other than Sam’s and his brother’s. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you don’t mind me taking on the job of faculty advisor for the community service project.”

“Mind?” He laughed bitterly. “Mind you thinking of the children and their hard work? No, Hannah. I don’t mind you continuing the lesson that humans are meant to be caretakers for those who cannot speak for themselves, and that art is a respected and powerful means of communication, or that there is value to be found in people who are different. If I am too different for the administration, at least the lesson will continue without me.”

She winced. “Are you quitting? Did they…?”

Castiel smiled tightly. “I’ve been encouraged to use my leave, and seek out spiritual guidance. I’ll return the same day Mr. Arch comes back. I suspect that will be the day I will officially be asked to hand in my resignation."

To his shock, tears were welling in her blue eyes when he met her gaze. “That’s not right. You’re a great teacher, and you’re a good man. How can they…I don’t understand.”

“Just the rumor that a man might be homosexual is enough grounds to investigate. The fact that I refuse to confirm or deny it only leads them to the immorality clause of our contracts.”

She grabbed his hand now, and he felt it like an electric sting. “Then deny it! Dr. Spanner, you can’t give up everything for one man!”

“You’re very young, Hannah,” he murmured kindly, and removed his hand from her grip. “I’m not doing this for any man. I’m doing it for every man. For me. I could deny it, and that would be the end of it, most likely. I could deny it, but I shouldn’t have to. Hannah, I love this school and its students. I love the Church and my God. But only one of those has the right to judge what I am and what I am not, and He will let me know one day where I’ve failed. I will not lie about who I am, especially when that part of me has nothing to do with my work. If I taught you nothing in military history, understand this…What’s going on here right now has nothing at all to do with sexuality. It’s about power, and who has it, and their ability to hold onto it. If they can still produce a village mob whenever they point at a man and call him a monster, their power remains unthreatened. It’s true of governments and militaries, and it’s true of small towns and cities.”

Hannah sighed through thick emotion in her throat. “You’ll teach somewhere else, won’t you? Another high school?”

“No. I don’t think so. Maybe at a college. Probably not. I don’t know.”

She looked down at her feet then. “I’ll do what I can for these kids, for their project.”

He gave her a smile. “I know you will. Keep teaching, Hannah. I’m sure you’re great at it.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the building in time to hide the tears falling escaping his long lashes.


	19. Weeding Out the Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel spend some time. 
> 
> We get a glimpse of the John, Jess and Victor of this world.

Dean smiled evenly at the neighbor as he waited for Castiel outside his house. She seemed entirely too interested in what the Impala was doing parked in the neighborhood. He would put money on her being the bitch who had gossiped about Castiel’s private life. He turned off the ignition, and stepped out of the car to lean on his hood. “Hello, ma’am! Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said through perfect teeth and his most charming smile.

The woman had been pretending to garden, but she stood now. “It is,” she said suspiciously.

“I’m Dean Winchester. Friend of Spanner’s.”

“Madge Carey,” she forced out.

“Madge,” he purred. “What a lovely name. And a lovely flowerbed you’ve got there too.”

She began to smile in spite of herself. “Thank you. I work on it often.”

“Oh, I bet you do, ma’am. Nice to cultivate little seeds and watch them bloom into exactly what you want them to be, and know that it was you that set it all in motion, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. I make wreaths from the flowers. They’re everyone’s favorites up at the church.”

Dean nodded with enthusiasm. “They must be! You know, Madge,” he said conversationally, “I’ve often thought flowers are like people. Don’t you think so?”

She tilted her head at him. “I don’t think I understand-“

“Oh, they are. Definitely just like people. You take an innocent seed, something nature made, a seed minding its own business and not hurting anyone, a seed meant to grow on its own someplace safe. Then you put that seed in with a bunch of other seeds it doesn’t belong with, and you try to make it into something it ain’t. Then when it blooms into something different from what you expect, you rip it out by its roots and call it a weed. If it doesn’t fit into your view of a perfect little flower bed or a perfect wreath, and you can’t make it do what you want it to do, you take it from the only home its known, and you rip it up and toss it aside to die. Doesn’t matter if it would have been happy and healthy if it had just been left alone. What matters is whether or not it fits in the right way.” He gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. “Isn’t that right, Madge?”

The woman took a step back, even though he had made no move toward her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. And you know what’s funny? I think some flowers get by with everyone thinking they’re perfect, that they are exactly the sweet-smelling things they’re meant to be, and yet sometimes those are the ones that should be yanked up by the roots and thrown away. They match the others, so they’re allowed to stay and thrive, but they really don’t deserve that, do they, Madge?”

She glowered at him, but it was obvious she had no response. She turned on her heel and went into the house, slamming the screen door behind her, just as Castiel walked out of his own home.

Dean turned his attention to his new friend and sighed. “Well, you look like crap on toast,” he informed him as they both got into the car.

“Thank you,” Castiel said hoarsely. “What did Madge Carey want?”

“Compliments on how well she keeps the weeds out of her garden.”

The blue eyes narrowed at him, but then he shrugged. “Okay. Tell me again where I agreed to go.”

Dean put the car in gear, gave one last glare into the rearview at the house behind them, and sped out of the neighborhood with the engine roaring. “Out with some friends.”

Castiel sounded exhausted. “I don’t have any of those, Dean,” he sighed in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Yeah. You do. And after today, you’ll have more. Shut up and take a nap. It’s a long drive, north of Lawrence, and you need some shut eye.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’d be surprised how many folks my baby’s engine has rocked to sleep. Sam can barely sit in her for a half hour without drooling on the upholstery.”

A slow smile brightened Castiel’s face, but at the same time, it made him look even older. It had come up in the poker game that Castiel was ten years older than Sam, making him six years older than Dean. But just in the time he had known him, Castiel had seemed to age another ten years. For one thing, his eyes were always squinting.

“Didn’t I see you in glasses first time we met?”

“I wear glasses sometimes.”

“But I haven’t seen you in them since.”

Castiel sighed again. “I tend to wear them when I do paperwork. I had driven with them that day because I was distracted. I don’t normally do that. I saw my car just after one o’clock, then I had to finish my work before I could leave. So at about five, I went straight from finishing the staff paychecks to driving to your place. Forgot to take them off.”

He nodded. He could only imagine how badly Castiel had wanted to leave work that day. “So you use them to read.”

“Mostly.”

Dean cleared his throat and stared through the windshield. “So Sam says you dumped him.”

He could feel Castiel jolt next to him. “What? He said that? Did he say that?”

“No. He said he’s backing off, because that’s what you want. That’s what Sam will say when he’s been dumped by a guy he don’t want to lose entirely. I know, because it’s happened to Sam all his life.”

Green eyes glanced at Castiel out of their corners. The man looked positively miserable. “Dammit, Dean. Pull over and throw punches already. You obviously want to.”

He shrugged. “Not yet,” he responded casually. “Thought I’d give you a bit of background on Sammy. He’s four years younger, you know. We lost my mother when he was real little, and grew up with our dad. Except Dad wasn’t there. Even when he was there, he wasn’t.”

“I don’t…”

“In and out of hospitals our whole lives. Guy I work with now, Bobby, he pretty much raised us. Every time Dad ended up in rehab or a mental health place, Bobby came and picked our asses up and took us back to Lawrence. I remember once, Sam was about nine, and Dad had taken us all the way to Sioux Falls, North Dakota. No reason. Just packed us up in the truck and went. Then he lost it, and I got him to the hospital, and they admitted him, and I tried to steal his truck and take Sammy away from all of it. Except he wouldn’t go. He said we needed be there for Dad.”

Castiel was watching him, brows pinched together in concern.

“See, Dad was done. Wasn’t his fault. I guess my mom helped him through whatever issues he had, and when she wasn’t there anymore, he just couldn’t handle it. The grief and whatever else was eating up his brain, he was just done. Me and Sammy, we looked out for one another. Bobby looked out for us. But Dad was done. Except Sam wasn’t done with him. Got to the point where Dad couldn’t even look him in the eyes. I don’t even know if Dad knew who he was sometimes. But Sam just said it was okay. He didn’t need Dad to love him. He just wanted to be there for him.”

The man beside him let out a breath too fast. “Poor Sam.”

“That was when he was a kid. He moved on after a few years, told Dad he was going to college. Dad accused him of abandoning him. Cut him pretty deep. Then Dad told him if he left, he better never come back. And he looked at me and said what do I do? And I said, Sam, you go. See, when somebody you love can’t love you back, you gotta decide how much you’re willing to give them. For me, it was making sure he was taken care of real well. I pay his bills, send him stuff, and I visit him a few times a month. Call him sometimes. But Sam can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Castiel whispered.

“Because he loves too much. Sam is either all in or not at all. He can’t have one foot in the door and one out. He thinks he can, but he can’t. It eats him alive. A guy in college ripped his heart out. Jess. He was so in love with that guy. Then Jess wanted to keep him around but didn’t want to commit to him anymore. And he backed off, but came whenever Jess called, said he was just being a good friend. What he was being was used, but I could never say that to him. Then a buddy of his about two years back. He led Sam on like nothing I’ve ever seen, because he was too selfish to admit he wasn’t even into guys. Sam was always there for him, helped him through a divorce, through a lot of crap. And he let Sam think something might happen, because he didn’t want to give that up. Hinted that he was bisexual, that Sam had a chance, till finally Sam made a move, and the guy tore his heart to shreds. Sam ran with this guy for most of another year before it got too much. Said he just wanted to be there for him. Said he was backing off, but that Victor wanted to still hang out with him sometimes. In the meantime, my little brother ran through a meat grinder every time he saw this guy. Finally, I went to the guy myself and told him Sam had backed off and it was time for him to do it too. He didn’t even argue, knew what he should have done from the start, and he lost my brother’s number finally. Sam loves too much to do things halfway.”

Castiel’s voice was quiet, contemplative. “And that’s what you’re doing with me? Telling me I need to back off because I’m hurting your brother?”

“I’m telling you you’re an idiot for not seeing what’s right in front of you. Sam feels like dog food for what happened to you. This whole week you’ve been alone, and he’s been at my place every single night, pretending like he isn’t waiting for you to call and say you need him. He knows you’ve been out of work for a solid week, and he’s worried to death about you, and he won’t call you because he promised to back off, but he’s losing his head because you won’t call him. Seems to me you like my brother.”

The man was breathing shallowly. “I can’t,” he murmured through panic.

“That don’t mean you don’t.”

This sigh seemed to carry with it years of frustration. “Dean, please. I enjoy your brother very much-“

Dean snorted. “Enjoy? Yeah, I bet you did. But there’s more to love than enjoying one another. You need to nut up and tell him you don’t want anything to do with him or you need to tell him you care about him as much as he does about you. This in between crap doesn’t work for Sam. He’ll pretend it does, but it’ll rip him up. So? Your issues worth losing him entirely?”

A whimper escaped his lips.

“Cas?”

“I haven’t called him! I haven’t seen him! How much more do I need to back off?”

The Impala turned onto the route 59 from 56. Dean let her stretch her legs. “That what you want?”

“Of course. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a good man. I certainly don’t want to do to him what those others have done.” Castiel pulled in a deep breath. “Perhaps you should take me back to my place.”

Dean’s fingers tightened over the steering wheel. “Or perhaps you should stop being a moron and reach out for the only good thing that’s come your way ever.”

Castiel was silent again.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, what awful thing happened that made you think you don’t deserve to be happy. But I knew it the first time I saw you look at that kid. You think he could be what you don’t think you should have. Life is real short, Cas Spanner. Don’t waste my brother’s time when you and I both know you want to let him love you. I won’t always be around to pick up the pieces, and it’d be nice to know somebody had the balls to step up for him for once.”

There was a beat of silence, and Dean sighed with frustration and disappointment. He had thought this guy was worth Sam’s time. Maybe he was wrong.

Then, very slowly, Castiel began to nod. “He’ll be there tonight?”

He stared hard at the road ahead. “Yeah. A bunch of us are getting together for him, actually. His birthday’s the 2nd, Monday. So we’re all hanging out at my buddy Cole’s to celebrate early.”

“All right,” the deep voice said quietly. “Then I’ll ask him to forgive my cowardice tonight, and see if he is interested in giving me a second opportunity. If he is, I’ll do my best not to be a waste of his time.”

Dean let a surprised grin of relief splash over his face. He glanced quickly at the weary man next to him. “Good. Because kicking your ass after everything you’ve been through just doesn’t seem right. And anyway, I’m starting to like you.”

Castiel snorted, then turned to stare out the window. “Poor taste must run in the family.”

He laughed, and turned the radio up to make conversation unnecessary, and he tapped out a rhythm on his steering wheel to Black Sabbath wondering if the iron man has thoughts within his head. _We’ll just pass him there. Why should we even care?_ Dean's smile faltered and began to fade.

_Nobody wants him. He just stares at the world..._


	20. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is surprised to see Castiel join the gathering.

Sam stared at the Impala as two men got out of it. He knew Garth was still talking, but he could no longer hear him.

Castiel had come? Why had Castiel come?

His eyes narrowed. What had Dean done to get Castiel to come?

A warm hand rested on his arm, startling him. “That him?”

“Hm?” He glanced back at Garth, then refocused on Dean being greeted by Cole and his wife, and the introductions which ensued.

“That the guy? Pretty blue eyes and all that?”

“Amazing voice,” Sam sighed numbly.

Garth gave a light laugh. “He can’t be too bad if Dean brought him.”

“No,” he whispered. “Not bad at all.”

“Maybe he’ll drink with me since you won’t.”

Finally, Sam turned to him with a scowl Garth didn’t deserve. “Last time I got drunk, I ruined a man’s life. I think I better stay sober for a while.”

“Okay, okay, man. Looks of him, though, I’m guessing he wasn’t fighting you off.”

When Sam looked again, he could see Castiel staring at him from across the large yard. “No. No, but he should have.”

Garth shook his head. “Some of us are trying to enjoy you turning forty. Don’t be all doom and gloom.”

At last, he had Sam’s attention. “What? Twenty-eight, jackass!”

The man grinned. “Yeah, sure. Maybe I’d believe it if you slept more. Ya idjit.” Garth smacked him on the arm and stepped away toward the pool where his lovely Bess was floating.

Sam watched them interact for a while. He liked Garth and Bess. He liked the way they flirted very gently, as if they weren’t married already. He liked the way they shared sickeningly sweet pet names between them. He liked the way the two of them loved one another so completely that neither ever had reason to change anything about themselves. He never would have guessed it, but quirky Garth Fitzgerald had become his model for a happily ever after.

A light touch at the small of his back made him flinch.

The hand jerked away quickly as he turned around. Castiel’s gaze was lowered to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. “Presumptuous.”

It made Sam’s heart ache. “No! No, I’m sorry. It’s fine. You just startled me.” The spot which had lost Castiel’s touch pleaded with his brain to fix it, to get it back.

Castiel did not raise his eyes. “I’m told it’s your birthday next week. Felicitations.”

Something about that made Sam break into an unstoppable smile. _Felicitations_. Of course. “Thank you, man. It was really good of you to come.” He cleared his throat. “You met the host? Cole Trenton?”

The blue eyes traced back toward the patio where Cole and Dean were cackling over a private joke. “Yes. He is…quite pleasant. Dean said he had been in the military as well. We traded branch barbs, as is customary.” He gave a small smile. “He seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” Sam took a deep breath. “Um, come on. I’ll get you a beer. Do you…drink beer?” He had drunk a single beer at the poker table, but there hadn't been any other choices. It was ridiculous. He had known this man just three weeks. How had he managed to ruin his life, end his career, and retraumatize him, and yet still not know whether he drank beer? Ridiculous did not even cut it at this point. He had moved past ridiculous into pathetic and mildly repugnant.

“I absolutely drink beer today,” Castiel confirmed.

He snorted. “Yeah. I think I might start now too.”

But before they could reach the coolers, Castiel reached for his arm and stopped him. When Sam turned to face him, he dropped his gaze again, as well as his hand. “Sam, may I talk to you privately first?” He glanced around them nervously. “Is that…would that be all right? With your guests, I mean?”

Sam smiled weakly. “Yeah, sure. They’re not here for me, man. They’re here because I provide a reason for a party. That’s all. It’s really just a bunch of buddies coming to crash Cole’s pool and his ice box.” He pointed toward a bench under a tree away from everything else, and they moved toward it. He spared a glance back at his brother, who nodded at him, then went back to laughing with Cole.

Once they were at the bench, neither of them seemed to know what to do. They each stared down at it, then at one another. Finally, Castiel rolled his eyes and sat, gesturing for Sam to join him. The older man put his elbows onto his knees and stared out ahead of him at the flowers just outside of the tree’s shade.

He lowered himself to the seat as far from Castiel as he could manage. The spot on his back and arm which had connected with Castiel already tried to convince the rest of him to move toward the man instead of away. But Sam was determined to give Castiel space. Sam had been the one to press their friendship. Sam had been the one who had invaded Castiel’s life. Sam had been the one to upturn Castiel’s privacy and everything he held dear. Sam would be the one to give Castiel support without asking anything in return. It was the least he could do. Besides, it was enough that he was permitted the privilege of Castiel’s friendship. Things could have gone far worse between them, and Sam would not have blamed him if he had never wanted them to be in the same vicinity again. It was enough to be allowed to love him from a distance. Sam just wanted to be there for him. In the end, it did not really matter that his own heart was shredding itself layer by layer. _He doesn’t have to love me_ , he had thought countless times over the past two weeks. _I fell for him, but I don’t need him to love me. I just want to be there for him. And I can do that. I will do that._

If Castiel let him.

The older man licked at his lips, and Sam’s own lips parted as if he could feel the tongue himself. He took in a jagged breath. Castiel was not going to make this unrequited thing easy.

It was going to be worse than Victor, Sam realized with a drop of his heart. He had just imagined what Victor’s lips would taste like, what his skin and muscles felt like, what waking up beside him did to a man. With Castiel, it was not imagination but memory which taunted him. He knew how right it was to touch this man. He knew how ferociously Castiel held on to a lover, how his mouth claimed every inch as if he were starving, how his strength and generosity were evident in the way he gave everything to him. The man’s voice, his expressive eyes, his quiet, intense passion, and those delicious lips…They were things Sam no longer had any right to. The few hours when they were his, they would have to last him through this broken heart.

Castiel didn’t have to love him. He just wanted to be there for him…

He closed his eyes.

It hurt, far more than it should. How had he let himself fall so hard so quickly? He should have known better. He should have…

“Sam, I want to apologize.”

When Castiel broke the silence, it jolted Sam out of his personal pain. Immediately, his mind switched gears back to worry for his friend. “Cas, please don’t apologize. Please. You haven’t done anything wrong. I know that’s hard for you to-"

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Sam stared at him. “No, Cas…I-I understood. I know you’re not…” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t need you to care about me. I’m fine. I just want to be here for you.”

Castiel’s face lifted and he looked up into Sam’s. “That’s how you do it? You just let others lean on you when they have no intention of reciprocation?”

He flinched. It was entirely too blunt a statement to not hurt. He found his chest too tight to take a deep breath. “I…don’t need…”

The man’s clear blue eyes lowered to the ground again. “You do need,” he corrected softly. “You do. I know because we do the same thing. Different reasons, maybe. I think perhaps you do it because you fear being rejected by someone you care about. I do it because…because I don’t deserve…” The eyes closed now. “Because I feel as though I don’t deserve someone else’s care. You want to keep a friend at arm’s length because you think it’s the only way to keep him at all, that he’ll run if you try to close the distance. I do because I’m terrified of him getting too close.”

Sam’s eyes were burning. Why had Castiel come today? Why had he come, if he was just going to reiterate what he had already said? “Cas, I told you. I don’t mind backing away. I said I wouldn’t ask anything of you. Please don’t…Cas, it isn’t easy already, so please, just don’t. You don’t have to explain it to me again.” He tried a pitiful laugh. “I may be younger, but I’m not stupid.”

“No,” Castiel breathed toward the grass. “No, you’re certainly not that. You’re brilliant. That’s obvious. But you _are_ young, and you haven’t learned yet not to try to anticipate what someone is trying to say. I’m a lecturer, Sam, not a conversationalist, and if we’re going to continue an intimate relationship between us, you’ll need to be patient with me when I try to talk.”

The younger man frowned down at him. “I wasn't trying to…” Then he stopped to stare. “Wait, what?”

“My people skills are rusty. You’ll need to be patient with me.” He licked his lips again, and Sam’s heart burst, his skin crackled with electricity, and his breath came too shallowly. “If you’ll have me, if you’ll be patient with me. I’d like to try getting closer than arm’s length.”

“Please. Cas, god, can I kiss you?” His heart was pounding, and he felt every beat trying to throw him toward this quiet man.

Castiel looked back toward the guests at the party with anxiety in his eyes. No one was even acknowledging them, and Sam thought that might be intentional. So the older man took a breath, and finally- _finally!_ -turned to look into Sam’s eyes. He was biting his lip, until Sam was suddenly biting it for him.

Neither imagination nor memory could compare with the actual sensations strumming through him at Castiel’s touch. Sam’s gentle hand was holding Castiel’s cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb, fingers sliding across his neck. He forced himself to slow down, to break his lips from their interlock with Castiel’s, and instead rest their foreheads together. He wanted nothing more than to continue tasting every part of his lover, for the rest of the evening and into the night, but he knew Castiel needed to operate at a slower pace than that.

There was fear in the blue eyes now, but determination as well. “I don’t want…” Castiel breathed deeply through his nose before continuing. “I don’t want to be someone you’re just here for. I don’t want to be someone you don’t need to love you. I want to be more than that. And I…Well, unless they’re going to try to excommunicate me, I’ve literally got nothing left to lose.”

Sam closed his eyes against the words. “Cas,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Castiel pressed his nose into Sam’s cheek and kissed him again, with a bit of possessive intensity. “No, don’t be sorry. Be patient. Please. I promise you I can be more. I can be someone who takes care of you instead of just leans on you. I will make myself into someone who deserves you. But please be patient. Don’t give up on me. I can’t…explain to you…I can’t make you see how hard this is for me. I want so badly to just fly. To run, I mean. I thought about it all week long. How far I would have to go so this didn’t follow me, so I could start over somewhere no one knew me, and I could have my quiet and my routines and my space where no one…where no one threatens to love me. I think this might be the only chance I get, Sam. If this doesn’t work out, if you can’t…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convince myself to try again.”

He smiled into the next sweet brush of lips. “Cas, you just tell me what you need, and I’ll make this work out. I’ve waited so long to be what someone actually wants. I’ve spent too long as a placeholder till something better comes along. Again and again. I want to be the one you want, not the one who gets you through to someone else. I don’t know how you knew that about me, that I do that, help rebuild broken hearts, just to see them given away to someone better. I think it would crush me completely this time. To convince you you’re more than worthy of love, to show you how beautiful and good you are, and that there isn’t anything wrong with letting someone love you…then have you walk away and give yourself to someone else. I’ll do it. God knows I’ll do it. But I think it would break me this time.”

“Then the new vow is this,” Castiel said in a shaking voice as he gripped Sam’s hands. “You be patient. Don’t give up on me. And everything I learn about freedom and love, I’ll use only for you.”

Sam had to remind himself to breathe. “I’m not giving up,” he promised.

Castiel’s eyes closed, and he let Sam’s arms encircle him. Sam rested his chin on the man’s head, and looked out over the path back to the rest of the party through blurred vision. His gaze caught Dean’s, and their eyes locked the way they did whenever one could feel the other searching. Dean smiled to himself across the way, and lifted his bottle of beer with a wink.


	21. Game Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes a day off.

Sam had taken Monday off from work, and they lay in bed until it was nearly eleven o'clock. Every time Sam's phone buzzed, Castiel glanced at him anxiously, but Sam simply put his face deeper into the older man's chest and muttered some variation of "Luke, I swear to god, you can handle one day without me. May 2nd. That's all I ever ask for, all year. May 2nd."

Finally, he gave in and checked his messages from bed. He laughed out loud and played some of them for Castiel.

"Hey, bitch. Glad you were born and whatever. Call me and let me know if I gotta come crack that pilot's head yet."

Castiel stared at him and blinked.

"Glad you were born and whatever. That's Dean saying happy birthday. That's always Dean saying happy birthday. Every year my whole life. And offering to crack your head is his way of saying he's happy for us."

The blue eyes squinted with confusion. "It's hard to tell if he likes me or not. Or you for that matter."

Sam chuckled and played the next message.

"Sammy! Happy birthday, man! You ducked out Saturday before I could dunk you. You know tradition. I'm coming for you!"

Another voice called out, "Don't listen to him, Sam! We love you! Happy birthday!"

Castiel felt himself smiling quietly. "And who was that?"

"Cole and his wife. Kind of forgot about the dunking. He'll take it out of my ass next time. Whoever is the reason for the party gets thrown in the pool by the end of it. Takes four guys to dunk me. I'm better off jumping in. I'm just glad my birthday is in May. Jo's is in February."

He cringed, but settled his head on Sam's chest. "I wouldn't mind seeing you swim."

He received a warm smile from his lover. "Really? Because Dean says I look like a drowning baby moose."

"I don't think Dean appreciates you in quite the same way I do. That is, I hope he doesn't."

This produced a jab into his stomach. "You heard him. He's glad I was born and stuff."

The third message was Luke trying to find out where Sam keeps information about wrongful termination. The fourth was Luke remembering to say happy birthday. The fifth was Luke saying he didn't understand the new legislation being proposed in the state capital and wanted it explained in "real words that make sense." The sixth was obviously an unintentional call in which Luke was belting out lines of Stairway to Heaven interspersed with mutterings about which of the state senators he was going to drag down to hell with him.

"Guess I don't blame him for that. And Stairway is a good song."

"Yeah, not when you hear it forty-seven times in a row coming from the office next to yours. It's one of three songs he knows. Some nights, it runs through my head so I can't even sleep. I'm glad Luke uses his power for the force of good, but some days I could just lock the man up and throw away the key."

Castiel liked it when Sam laughed. It made his chest tight and his head light.

"Sam, happy natal day! Jo says she's so glad you could find out for her what it's like to be old before she has to go through it herself. So I noticed something strange on Saturday. Your brother showed up at Cole's with this really hot straight guy, and then you left with a really hot gay guy. Weird thing is I was introduced to each of them and I could swear they had the same name. Call me, bitch!"

The older man's face was flushed hot. He ducked it further into Sam's chest. "That was Charlie," he guessed.

"That's Charlie." He strained his neck to see Castiel's face hiding pitifully against his skin. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He murmured. His stomach was churning.

"Because Charlie just summed up your last month. Started out as a hot straight guy and now..."

"I was gay before April. No one knew it, that's all."

"Gabriel Arch did."

His whole body jolted, and he raised himself on his elbow to stare at his lover. "What? Gabriel Arch!"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Said he knew when he met you. And..." A mild blush crossed Sam's own cheekbones. "And when he came to Triad to introduce himself, last thing he said on his way out the door."

"What?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Said Spanner thinks you're attractive."

Castiel's mouth fell open. "He said that?"

"I think...I think the word he used was...hot."

His brain seemed to short circuit. He could not even think beyond the incoherent syllables slipping from his mouth. “But…why…what did…I didn’t…”

Sam was grinning at him. “I thought he was just messing with me at the time. But I won’t pretend it didn’t give me something nice to think about while I was daydreaming on the ride home that night.”

This seemed to jumpstart his cognition once again. “You thought about me on your ride home?”

“And…maybe a bit after I got home.”

A slow, wicked smile came over his face. “You thought about me instead of Stairway that night?”

Hazel eyes narrowed in a playful glower. “You going to make me tell you all my secrets?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We’ll trade secrets.”

“Trade how?”

Sam rolled onto his side and tossed his phone at his sports bag. He smiled excitedly, and Castiel interrupted his thoughts to pounce on his lips with his own. He tasted the man’s tongue and sucked it into his own mouth for good measure, before finally releasing him again. “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly.

“I couldn’t help it,” Castiel admitted. “You can’t see you, so you wouldn’t understand. I enjoy your smile…very much.”

Sam’s blush was delicious. “Okay. I’m going to brush my teeth before you do that again. And then we’re going to play a game.”

“Fine.” Castiel excelled at most games. He had no doubt he would do quite well at this one, whatever it was. He watched with appreciation as the enormous man slipped out of bed and walked toward the bathroom in all his naked glory. “Then you tell me your secrets?”

“Oh no,” Sam called back. “That’s the game. Give me a minute.”

He frowned a bit. Trading secrets. That meant Castiel would also be forced to share something. That really wasn’t what he considered a game. He would have to introduce Sam to chess.

Once they had taken their turns in the bathroom, they emerged to prepare breakfast foods for lunch. Breakfast at eleven thirty on a Monday during the school year, with another man was about as far from Castiel’s acceptable routines as it got. But he found he did not mind so much. Not while Sam risked cooking bacon and eggs without a shirt to protect his bare chest. He realized that, very slowly, Sam was beginning to seem as though he belonged in Castiel’s home.

Just that thought was frightening, so he pushed it aside.

Once their breakfast was on the table, Sam grinned at him. “Okay. Ready?”

He looked up from the beautiful bare arms and chest in front of him. “I’m sorry. Ready for what?”

“Do I need to put on a shirt?” Sam teased softly. Even as he said it, pink crept up his chest and across his cheeks.

Castiel smiled sheepishly. “Probably,” he allowed. “But I wish you wouldn’t.”

Sam leaned in to kiss him quickly. “Ready for the game. I’m going to ask you a question, and you can answer it or not. But if you choose to answer it, I’ll answer anything you ask of me.” 

His eyes widened, and he swallowed his juice quickly. So it was chess, of sorts. A secret for a secret. Was his desire to keep his own secrets stronger than his desire to learn more about this beautiful man? “Anything?”

“Absolutely anything.”

Castiel excelled at games.


	22. Every Other Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Included is a line inspired by sweet Rosworms.

Castiel was extremely bad at this game.

“I don’t want to answer that.”

Sam laughed at the expression on the man’s face. He shook his head. “You haven’t wanted to answer anything!”

“I thought I was going to get to ask you questions.”

“Only if you answer one of mine first!”

Castiel considered. “I think I should get to ask first.”

“Oh?” Sam said with amusement. “And why is that?”

“We’re at my house.”

A peal of laughter escaped from Sam’s mouth. “You are unbelievable! You’re like a middle school kid!”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. They had sprawled out in the living room, on a quilt on the floor, in a way Sam knew went against every domestic instinct Castiel had. It had taken nearly twenty minutes to convince the older man that this was where the game would be the most fun. “It reminds me of basic training,” Castiel had scoffed. “I don’t crawl on the ground anymore.” But now he was holding himself up on his elbows and forearms, looking down at Sam, who was on his back laughing at him. “I am not a middle schooler. I just think this game would be better if I had an understanding of the rewards I would receive if I participated in the way you want me to.”

“So you want me to reward you for being obstinate.”

“I’d like you to reward me for putting up with you at all.” The dark eyebrow peaked in challenge.

Sam laughed. He had to give him that. “Okay. Don’t do your professor stare. Go on. Ask your first question, but when I answer it, you better reciprocate.”

Now that his lover had gotten his way, he was all smiles. “Fine. How many men have you slept with?” 

“Wow. Had that one all ready to go, didn’t you?”

He waited expectantly.

Sam pulled his hand through his hair, then put it under his head. He liked the way Castiel was watching his chest and arms. “A few. I messed around with some guys in high school, but didn’t actually have sex till college. There was a guy, Jess, that I fell for almost right away, and I was exclusive with him for almost two years. When he and I separated, I kind of…I guess I let myself go a bit. Went home with a few guys after parties. Short-term hookups here and there. Had a scare with one of them, and went and got myself tested, and it all came out okay, but I guess that made me a bit more careful after that. Since I got my degree, there have been two guys that each lasted about four months.”

“So I’m likely a double digit.”

Sam flushed pink. “I…I guess so. I mean…Is that a problem?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. Not unless you get bored easily.”

Relief cooled his cheeks, and he smiled. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“I hope not.”

“My turn. I was going to ease into sex, but since you went there, here’s yours. What’s your biggest kink?”

As soon as the topic was turned on him, Castiel made a face. “I don’t think-"

“I answered you. You gotta answer this. That’s how it works.”

He took a breath and shrugged a bit. “Fine. Let me think.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What’s to think? Seriously! What is it you have to think about?”

Castiel looked at him with exasperation. “Do you want me to give you an honest answer or not?”

“Yes!”

“Then shut up and let me think.”

He could not help laughing.

After what seemed like too long, Castiel licked his lips and had two false starts and a flush of embarrassment before he could say anything. It was entirely adorable. “I liked what you did…” The blue eyes closed.

Sam’s hands flew up in frustration, in spite of his smile. “That’s not a kink! That doesn’t count! What, you’re not into anything? You like what I did. That doesn’t-"

“You interrupted me! I wasn’t finished!”

He groaned. “Well, you paused long enough for me to think it was a period and not a comma. Spit it out.”

The eyes flared in irritation, but then they closed again. “I liked what you did as I was waking up that morning. I really…This is ridiculous.”

“Go on.” Sam watched his face, enjoying the way his tongue kept darting out to lick his lips nervously. “I want to know.”

“I don’t know why. I just…I like the idea of…of waking up and…and you’re already…I don’t know why. I like it. A lot.”

Sam could hear the anxiety in Castiel’s voice. He lifted his hand to touch his face softly. “Hey. No guilt, right? We’re trying to move past that.”

The man leaned into his hand, but didn’t open his eyes. “I think…”

This time, Sam was determined to wait until Castiel had said everything he had to say.

“I think maybe…part of what I like about it is…I’m not the one initiating anything. It’s that you want me. And that it can’t be my fault for enjoying it. It’s like I can’t be held responsible for…for feeling it if you started when I wasn’t even awake yet. And the idea that you would want that, that you wanted me enough to not be able to wait…Anyway, that’s as close to a kink as I guess I have.”

Sam stored the information away in his mental file, and threw his arms around Castiel to pull him down on top of him. He placed his lips on the other man’s jaw and one of his hands slipped down into the waistband of Castiel’s jogging pants. He could feel his lover trembling slightly, and it filled him with want. He rolled them over so that Castiel was on his back, and Sam’s hand was trapped between him and the floor. The blue eyes gazed up at him with an expression he could not quite name. Sam kissed at his throat until he heard a soft sighing moan. His own eyes fluttered shut and he felt his teeth against the skin.

“Sam?”

“God, Cas. You are amazing, you know that? There will never be a morning when I don’t want to wake you like that.”

Castiel let out a whimpering breath. “Sam,” he groaned, as a knee put gentle pressure between his thighs. “Wait. It’s my turn.”

A smile came over him, and he kissed the man’s lips quickly. He turned onto his side, though he left his leg slung over Castiel. “I’m sorry. I got distracted by how cute and hot you are, and how glad I am to fulfill that kink at every opportunity.”

The older man was still blushing, but he cleared his throat. “What are you most afraid of, Sam?”

He blinked in surprise. “Uh,” he laughed, “you mean like a phobia? Clowns. Definitely freaked the hell out by clowns. God, just saying that is freaking me out. But if you mean just in general…I think I’m most afraid of disappointing someone I care about. Letting them down. Like my brother. He’s always thought I was something special, smart or whatever. And anytime I felt like slacking off in school, I’d think of him and his expectations. He never put any pressure on me on purpose. But he was always so proud of me, for no reason at all, and it just made me kind of desperate to be what he thought I was.”

“And how did you come out to him?”

Castiel was forgetting the rules, but Sam let it go. “I just asked him if he thought it was weird that I was never into any of the girls who wanted to date me in high school. And he gave me a strange look and said he figured that was just because I was into guys. He just knew. He probably knew before I did, accepted it as just another part of me. In fact, he told me it wasn't even close to the weirdest thing about me,” he laughed as he remembered.

His lover smiled at him quietly, then lowered his gaze.

“What about you? Didn’t you ever come out to anyone?”

“No. Except at confession. My family never knew, and I’ve been estranged from them for years anyway. I don’t have friends. That makes it easier not to tell anyone anything.”

The matter of fact way in which Castiel stated that he did not have friends always bothered Sam. “Dude, you have friends now. Everybody at Cole’s loved you.”

The blue eyes rolled. “I can make a good impression when I know I need to. That isn’t the same thing. No, I’ve never come out to anyone. Not on purpose, anyway.” He thought for a moment, and Sam knew not to interrupt. “What did you think about when…when you said you thought of me the evening after you met Gabriel Arch?”

A slow smile crept onto Sam’s face as he remembered. “This would be really embarrassing to admit if I didn’t know I’ll get to sleep with you again.” He sighed, and ran a hand down Castiel’s chest, feeling his muscles through his tee shirt. “I got off thinking about you, yeah.”

Castiel’s eyes went dark in a blink. Sam could feel his body reacting under his leg. “You…Tell me.”

“I’m a shower guy. I spent way too much time sharing space with my brother not to be. The bed is just not an option when you share a room. So after I got home that night, I went to take a shower, and I kept running what Gabriel said through my mind, that you thought I was hot. I couldn’t help it. I just thought about your voice, about what you might sound like while I touched you, and…that was all it took.”

“My voice?” he breathed.

“God, yes. You know you have an amazing voice.”

“I know I have a distinctive voice,” he argued doubtfully.

“It’s like sex and sandpaper.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It’s really not.” Sam let his leg brush over Castiel’s body just to hear him groan. He grinned victoriously. “See? That right there. That is better than porn. I can just record that and I’ll never need anything else to get off to again.”

Castiel shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. I’ve never known someone who talked the way you do. Even Balt, who gave me every disgusting detail of his encounters with women. Even he chose his words exactly. You, you just…say things.”

Sam laughed and pulled his leg back. “Is that all right?”

“It’s…It takes some getting used to. I don’t understand how you can manage to be so careless and confident, and yet so shy at the same time.”

“I’m not careless,” he argued. “I mean everything I say!”

Castiel smiled at him with adoration. “That’s part of why it’s so strange to me.”

“It’s my turn. Do you think you’ll ever fly again? Would you want to?”

The older man took in a breath of surprise, and his mouth opened on its own, but after a moment of Sam worrying he had gone too far, he spoke. “I don’t know. I’d like to. My eyes aren’t what they were years ago. I need glasses, though not for distance. I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t feel…capable right now. Not as a pilot. Perhaps if I were simply a passenger. But that might feel…I don’t know. I’ve tried for too long to accept that I’m grounded for life. Perhaps what I would really like…”

Sam tried not to interrupt, but as the silence wore on, he nodded encouragement. “What would you like?”

The man was staring up at the ceiling. The expression on his face was not of pain, as Sam feared it might be, but of thoughtful contemplation. Sam took the time to run his gaze over every part of Castiel’s face, to revel in his strong beauty, in the fierce eyes and the quiet composure. When at last he spoke again, it was so quietly, Sam had to watch his lips to catch every word. “Perhaps what I would really like is to get back to a place where I can remember what flying felt like. Where I can think about it without it always leading to Balt’s last flight. Our last flight. I’d like to find a way to enjoy my memories. I don’t need to fly again. I need to remember that I once did, that I was once a man who flew as easily as he walked. I know there was a time that I loved it, when it didn’t make me sick, when I didn’t taste blood every time I thought of it. I don’t want to fly again. That part of me is done, and that’s all right. I just want to get back to thinking of it in a way that makes me proud instead of sick. Does that…make sense?” He slid his gaze to his lover, who was watching him intently.

Tears burned Sam’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss Castiel’s lips. “Of course it makes sense. Just like you want to remember Balt being happy instead of him dying. You don’t want every happy memory to lead to that awful one.”

“I’m never going to forget that moment. I can taste it. But I want one day for it to be only every _other_ memory. If I could get to that point…I would be so grateful.”

Sam took his hands and held them tightly. “Then let’s work toward that. You deserve to let yourself remember the good times. And I want to hear about every one of them.”


	23. Filling the Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has never had to struggle to fill his time before. It's even worse now that he has someone on his mind.

It was hard while Sam was at work. He disliked how quickly he had come to expect the younger man’s voice and laughter in his home. The silence should have been a comfort, as it always had been. Now it simply seemed empty. As he tended to do, Castiel created a routine nearly right away. There were three weeks left in his self-exile, before both he and Michael were scheduled to return to the school. It was strange that Michael had not contacted him yet. There was little doubt that Raphael had communicated to him the story of the demon in their midst, even if a dozen of the old families had not.

Each morning, he drove to a church near Topeka, and listened to Mass. He was not sure why he did so. It made him angry most of the time. But he worried that if he did not surround himself with his faith right now, as everything changed around him, he would lose it altogether. To call this a crisis of faith was mild. It was a crisis of identity, a challenge to everything he was. He spent most of each Mass thinking about his students. He gazed at his classroom in his mind’s eye, and considered every face he should encounter day to day.

Before the first class, Castiel was often the first teacher on the premises. That was the time his seniors, the ones no longer in his classes, but who had found a sanctuary in his space the year before, came to gather and chat. Andy Gallagher had called it Doc’s Breakfast Club, and even though he did not understand the reference, he had understood that these students enjoyed the way Castiel let them congregate and be themselves in a way many other teachers would not have appreciated. They sidled up next to him at his desk where he worked quietly, and held out calculus homework or essays for other teachers, and he would patiently explain, edit and praise. Sometimes, they asked him his thoughts on Father Raphael’s sermons, and he always answered their questions with more questions, never truly committing to any real opinion, but giving them more to think about, from other perspectives or historical context. Some of these seniors, like Jake Talley, had never even had Castiel in class, but had gravitated to him with the others. Here and there were a few juniors who sat quite far away from the confident older students, and simply enjoyed the atmosphere until school started. One was Max Miller, who spent as much time in Castiel’s classroom as he could.

And what were these students doing now? Where was Max spending his mornings? Did Andy still hold court in his quirky way in the classroom now that Castiel was not there?

Castiel thought of every student during Mass, and wondered how his situation would be different if he had been unexpectedly forced out of the closet when he was their age. Castiel had been popular, which had bewildered him, since he considered himself impossibly awkward and out of touch with most of his peers’ interests. He was his high school team’s best chess player, as well as a fearsome soccer captain. He was quiet and never volunteered, but when called upon in any class, he was ready with the correct responses. People who called themselves his friends asked him for advice, and teachers considered him the most well-adjusted student at the school. He could not imagine how things might have gone if anyone, his family, other students or teachers, had known anything at all about him. Not just his sexual preference. Anything at all.

And now, here was Sam Winchester, this gorgeous young man full of so much charismatic energy, who wanted to know everything. It was exhausting, terrifying. It was wonderful.

Castiel went from the church in Topeka to the animal shelter, where, except for a few friendly greetings, no one expected him to talk. He liked the women who worked there, and the other volunteers. They all went about their business, smiling and focused, and no one talked very much to anyone who walked on two legs. Castiel spent time training Remmy and the other dogs, and the last thing he did before leaving each day was to climb the stairs and stare suspiciously into the little nest the guinea pig had created for itself. Madison had caught him squinting at the thing one day, and accused him of freaking out the poor little cavy.   “Does it have a name?” Castiel asked suddenly, on the Thursday after Sam’s birthday.

Madison startled. She had been filing at the front desk, listening to the radio, and, according to her, Castiel frequently did not make enough noise when he walked. “What? Does what have a name?”

“The rodent.”

“Oh. The guinea pig?” Madison shrugged. “Yeah. Some volunteer named Chuck who used to work here before he disappeared, he named him Enocho.”

Castiel frowned. “What does that mean?”

“He said it’s short for Enochian? I don’t know.”

“Enochian? The mythical language of angels?”

“I guess that’s why they call you Dr. Cas, huh? Yeah. He said something about the way he chirps sounded like…I don’t know. He was a weird guy.”

“It sounds that way. Enocho.”

“Enocho.” She smiled at him. “Why are you so interested in the little thing all of the sudden? Saw you watching him yesterday. You want him?”

The frown deepened. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“No? The poor little guy’s been here for so long. He needs somebody to take him home.”

He backed away. “And I hope he finds someone to do just that. I’m going to get back to the dog run.”

After putting in a few hours at the animal shelter each day, Castiel went home and showered. He cooked himself a late lunch, which he ate while reading, then he washed his dishes and cleaned the house. By then, he was consumed by thoughts of Sam, and he indulged in some snooping.

Sam’s status on the social media site was always enough to make him smile. On Thursday, he checked as he sipped some tea.

“So curious about the art my kids have promised for the auction. They just grin at me whenever I ask about it. In other news, our state legislators are idiots. I’ve got seven lawsuits ready to file as soon as this vote goes through. Senator Hael called me personally to ask me to please not. I told her she knows exactly how to keep me from doing that. It really isn’t my fault they’re trying to shove through legislation that’s unconstitutional.”

Castiel snickered to himself. It was oddly amusing to him that Sam was taking on the state senate with such utter confidence. The older man did not even like to take on a customer service representative over the phone when he didn’t have to.

He looked back at the noon conversation thread. As usual, Sam had posted the first status, which had begun the gathering for his friends in the comments. “Anybody else think the weekend should start on Wednesday nights? I’ve got a beautiful man to get back to.”

He felt a flush of pleasure flow through his whole body. “I wish you would,” he whispered into the silence.

Dean was nearly always the first to respond.

Impala67: “Oh cry me a river, desk jockey.”

MooseCallsShotgun: “Hey carpal tunnel is a thing”

ColeT: “As a guy working the hell out of a desk these days Deano I say screw you. I’d be back in the field if I could.”

Impala67: “4 wut is worth, bro, I’m glad you’re not still in the field. Not if that means your ass is getting shot at.”

ColeT: “4 wut is worth, bro, I appreciate that.”

Castiel squinted at the screen. He wondered why they kept using that phrase. Nearly every day, one of them said it. Inside jokes never made much sense to Castiel.

Garthed_IV: “My wife thought your beautiful man was beautiful. I don’t approve. End this relationship now. It can only end with my pain.”

Charjo: “Late because I was too busy dealing with my carpal tunnel and my ergonomically incorrect chair. damn these desk jobs suck. Dean is so lucky he works with his hands”

MooseCallsShotgun: “Sorry about that, G-man. Tell Bess she’s got great taste though.”

ColeT: “My wife liked him too, G-We’ll start a support group”

Impala67: “I’m real good with my hands, Charlie. Too bad you’ll never know.”

Charjo: “Thank goddess for small favors”

Garthed_IV: “My Wife Thinks Sam’s Boyfriend is Hot support group. MWTSBiH. We’ll need to work on that name.”

Charjo: “Hey, my girlfriend thinks Sam is hot. That’s even worse.”

WiccanInYourPocket: “Did someone say beautiful man? Not talking about me are you?”

Impala67: “How is that worse? She’s not Sam’s type either!”

Impala67: “There’s roughly zero chance we were talking about you.”

Garthed_IV: “burn”

WiccanInYourPocket: “I’m hurt.”

MooseCallsShotgun: “Don’t be an ass. Just because Guy is obnoxious and evil doesn’t mean he wasn’t useful for passing contract negotiation in pre-law.”

WiccanInYourPocket: “Thank you.”

WiccanInYourPocket: “Wait wut?”

APProphetSolo: “Jo, send your mom to my mom’s place.”

Charjo: “Why?”

APProphetSolo: “She’s got empty nest issues. Threatening to come visit me every weekend.”

Impala67: “Kev, you eating any better than last time you checked in?”

Charjo: “I’ll have Ellen call her.”

APProphetSolo: “Better than hotdogs and vitamins?”

APProphetSolo: “Thanks, Charlie.”

Impala67: “Forget your mom-don’t make me come up there”

Castiel sat back and smiled. He liked Sam’s group of friends. Sam was the heart of the group, no doubt. And Dean seemed to be the patriarch. It was odd that there was so much time dedicated in every thread to discussing Castiel’s physical features. Sam and someone named RamonesHeaven, who called Sam “Grumpy,” had spent Wednesday deciding whether they could actually bounce a nickel off Castiel’s ass, and he had ended up having to stop reading before finishing the whole thread. He did not even know who that woman was, though it seemed to be someone he had met very briefly at Cole’s, who had apparently flirted a lot with Dean, and who Dean treated in the threads as possibly a former lover. These sorts of things were strange to read, but everything else was an interesting insight into Sam’s life.

When he had gotten through the whole conversation, he reread Sam’s last exchange with Dean, after it appeared that the others had signed off.

MooseCallsShotgun: “You doing okay, big brother?”

Impala67: “Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you keep asking that?”

“Worried about you.”

“Dude, the others can read this.”

“They’re gone. And anyway, I ain’t the only one worried about you.”

“Dude, I’m okay! I’m okay, okay? I swear the next person who asks if I’m okay, I’m going to start throwing punches.”

“Yeah. That sounds perfectly okay. Call me, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Castiel wondered how that conversation continued.

After stalking his boyfriend online each day, he went for a jog. It was the hottest part of the day, but it was the time he was least likely to encounter other humans. Even Madge next door was napping at this time of day. He knew because, before Castiel had turned out to be a corrupted demon, she used to call him an angel since he had helped her with various things like carrying in her groceries and cleaning out her gutters, and while he did that, she had told him every activity she had participated in over the past decade or so. Other than Father Raphael or Headmaster Arch, there was no one that he wanted to see less during his sabbatical-or ever again-than Madge or her grandson Scott, who he was nearly perfectly convinced had been the one to deface his car. So he jogged during her afternoon nap.

 It felt like cowardice to be planning his daily run around an elderly woman’s schedule. But Castiel had become an expert at cowardice in his time since leaving the Air Force. He thought of his commanders and wondered what they would think of his extreme social anxiety. He thought of those he had commanded, and imagined their disgust and shock at unflappable Lt. Spanner’s constant level of self-doubt.

He showered again after his run, which brought him to nearly five o’clock. At that time, he stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Inevitably it did, and he let out a breath of relief.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Cas!”

Castiel felt the warmth in his stomach again. He loved the way Sam acted so excited that he nearly seemed surprised to hear his voice. “I’ve missed you,” he said before he could bite the words down.

Sam hummed happily through a laugh. “I miss you too. I only have a few minutes before I should get back.”

He licked his lips and sighed. “So you aren’t calling to say you’re on your way.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I can…If I move…”

He closed his eyes. This was silly. When did he become needy? “No, I just…wanted to check, because I’m busy. Do what you need to do.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Certainly.”

Sam huffed quietly. “You know, you sound just like my brother sometimes. I ask if he’s okay, and he always says of course.”

“Maybe he is.”

“He’s not. He just doesn’t want me to know that.”

A realization began to itch at the back of Castiel’s mind. “Sam? How do you feel about me becoming…about your brother and I…”

“Unless you end that sentence with something about having sex, I think I’m going to be okay with it. I gotta go. The kids are asking me about the auction. I’ll call you tonight before I sleep, okay?”

“Yes, Sam.” He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. Then he sighed again and tapped on it.

“Yeah, Dean, what?”

Castiel smirked. “What? That’s how you answer your phone?”

“It is when my hands were just in the guts of a ’70 Torino Cobra Jet, and I’m getting grease all over the touch pad.”

He wondered if Dean’s hands were perfectly clean. “I’m interested in buying you beer tonight.”

There was a silence for several beats, followed by a roar of laughter, neither of which Castiel knew quite what to think of.

“Is that a yes?”

“Dude, you are so weird. Yeah, you can buy me some drinks tonight. Sam stand us both up?”

A wave of relief passed through him. “It seems that way.”

“Yeah, he’s a workaholic. It’s no wonder his entire social life was digital before he met you.”

For some reason, this made Castiel smile. “Where should we go?”

“I don’t know. You want food?”

“Something light would be nice.”

“Old friend of mine has a pub not too far from where you are. I haven’t been in a long time, might be nice. I’ll pick you up. Just give me time to close up at six, and go home to shower and feed the mutt. What do you think, seven?”

He smiled softly. “Seven.” He was pulling the phone from his ear to disconnect when he heard Dean speak again.

“Cas? Thanks for calling, man.”

A flush of pleasure colored his cheeks. “Of course. I’ll just wait here then.”

Dean was laughing when he hung up.


	24. Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were going so well at the boys' night out...

Benny was always happy to see him. Why didn't he come to this pub more often? Sure, it was across town. So what? It wasn't as though Dean couldn't make the drive. What the hell else did he have going on?

He glanced at Castiel as they grabbed stools at the bar. "Sure you wouldn't rather a table?"

"I'm sure," the older man said quickly.

Dean smiled. At the bar, they could enjoy one another's company without actually having to look at one another. He returned the enthusiastic grin from the man behind the bar.

"Hey, brother!" Benny called. "It's been too long!"

Dean shrugged. "Busy," he lied.

"Who's your friend?"

"Name's Cas. He's Catholic. I thought he'd get a kick out of the name."

Benny guffawed as Castiel squinted at Dean. "Place is called Purgatory," he explained.

Castiel's eyes widened. "I failed to notice that on our way in," he admitted.

Benny smirked at him. "You can pick 'em, Deano. First round on the house, Cas, for putting up with my old war buddy here."

Castiel glanced at Dean. "War buddy?"

He snickered. "Only if high school was a battlefield."

His new friend shrugged. "Different weapons, perhaps. Nearly as traumatizing."

Dean cackled and smacked Castiel on the back, startling him. "This guy is actual military, Benny, not a second generation brat like us."

Benny put his hand up. "Then drinks are on me for the whole evening. Thanks for serving. What branch?"

Castiel stared at him in shock. Dean wondered if perhaps no one thought to thank the nebbish veterans. "Uh. Air Force. I was a pilot. Search and rescue."

"Yeah? What's your drink, fly boy?"

"I...White Russian. Thank you.”

Dean smiled encouragement. "Just a light beer for me."

"You got it."

When Benny turned to prepare their drinks, Castiel watched his back. "He's kind," he murmured.

"I know you don't talk much about serving. But I'd love to hear stories one day when you feel like it. Benny would love it too. His dad and my dad served together way back. Marine Corps."

Castiel smiled. "Then one day I'll tell you about the Marines I pulled out of Yemen. Came away with a full roster. That was a good day."

The soft way he said it let Dean know it was time to change the subject. “Like I said. You got two guys that’ll buy you drinks all night if you ever want to tell stories. Three if you count Sam. He’d probably just be listening to your voice, though. Me and Benny, we’d actually listen to what you were saying.” Dean let the man’s blush soak through at the mention of his brother, and then laughed again. “Benny and me, we’ve been in more fights than I can count, but not the same kind as you. Sometimes high school felt like three hundred sixty degree combat, and him and me, we always had each other’s back.”

“You sound like a good team.”

Dean nodded as Benny approached with their drinks. “Yeah, we made a fair team back in the day, didn’t we?”

“Damn right, brother,” Benny laughed. “You two drink these up, and then your ass is getting a tab. Only serving you did was behind the bleachers with the cheer squad.”

Even Castiel laughed at this. “Thank you again. That’s really kind of you.”

Benny shrugged. “Ain’t that what they all say about me, brother? Tell him.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, something like that. Why’s it always so dark in this place?”

“So you can’t see the stains.” Benny winked at his old friend and walked away to serve other customers.

He cringed. Ah. That was why he rarely came here. Benny liked to razz him about the germ thing. It hadn’t bothered him years ago, but lately, he didn’t even want anyone joking about it. It freaked him out. He knew Benny kept a clean house. But the idea was enough to make Dean swallow his beer too quickly, and rub his palms on his jeans.

Castiel glanced at him. “It’s perfectly clean, you know.”

“I know. I don’t care. Long as he’s serving drinks, I don’t care.”

“That’s not true.”

“I thought we were talking about you.”

His new friend shrugged and emptied his White Russian in one gulp. “I don’t do that any better than you do.”

Dean stared at the empty glass. “Do what?”

“Talk about me. I’m as bad at it as you are.”

Incredibly, they did find something to talk about. Benny kept their drinks coming, and Dean found it humorous that Castiel was outpacing him two to one at least. They laughed together over stories of Sam. They debated the safest and most strategic place to go during the inevitable zombie apocalypse. They argued the merits of Chuck Norris and Jet Li, until Castiel pointed out that Norris, who was also in the Air Force at one time, was an outspoken opponent of marriage equality and gay rights in general. Dean was so shocked by this, he had choked on his beer, and then vowed to only watch Jet Li from then on.

By eleven o’clock, Castiel was at last loosening up and finally seemed to be reacting to the copious amounts of alcohol Benny was bankrupting himself providing. The pub crowd was beginning to thin out, but one figure remained at the other end of the bar. Dean might have noticed before that the guy was watching them, but in his attempt to keep up with his friend and forget about the invisible stains in the dark, he had let himself get a little drunk. But now the man was openly staring…no, openly glowering at them across the bar.

Benny poured the guy another drink, then made his way into the back room for another bottle of scotch. Castiel was laughing at something Dean said, when the man spoke up.

“No wonder you needed four weeks off in a row, Spanner. Got to recover from all the time you spend on your knees, huh?”

Dean was slow to process what the guy was saying, but he felt Castiel jolt beside him.

“Zachariah,” Castiel hissed.

“How did we not know you were gay if you’re out with a different man every week?” Zachariah wondered.

His mind was sharpening, and Dean could hear that the man was slurring his words.

Castiel could hear it too. “You’re drunk, Zach. Just let me be.”

But instead, the man stood and began walking toward them. Dean’s shoulders tensed in anticipation. “Were you always a cockslut, Spanner? Or is it just the influence of the guy across the street? I thought you were some military hero. I didn’t think they gave medals for blowing guys.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, asshole?” Dean snapped. “Guy asked you to leave him alone. He ain’t hurting nobody.”

Zachariah laughed. “Not now, he’s not. Because Michael’s going to fire his ass as soon as he gets back. So he can’t corrupt the kids. So we don’t have to be sick every time we see him in the halls.”

The color had drained from Castiel’s face, and he was staring at the bar. “Zach, you should pay your tab and have the bartender call you a taxi.”

Dean’s eyes flashed in anger, and he stood to his intimidating height. “Listen, you son of a bitch! If Cas is too good a man to hit you, I will. Drunk or not, I will stab you in your face.”

Castiel stood and took hold of Dean’s arm. “No, Dean. Please. It doesn’t matter what he says about me.”

“This is all because you started hanging out with that lawyer across the street, that fag abomination that corrupts all those kids-"

Before Dean knew what had happened, Castiel had thrown his fist into the man’s face. The next two minutes were a blur, with Castiel slamming his clenched knuckles into Zachariah again and again, until the man was a bloody, pleading mess. Instead of diving onto the jerk as he had wanted to, Dean found himself having to grab hold of Castiel and drag him away. Benny was there now, shouting for someone, and the two of them managed to pull Castiel off of his victim. With both arms held behind him, the older man’s lethal voice rose above the noise and confusion. “Don’t you ever, ever talk about him that way again. Say whatever you want to about me, Zachariah, but I swear to you if I ever hear you breathe about Sam Winchester again, I will give you the chance to ask God how he feels about gay men in person!”

Dean and Benny pulled Castiel toward the pub entrance.

“Get him away from me!” the other man screamed. “Fucking fairy almost broke my damn nose!”

Dean looked back at Benny, who shrugged and tried to hide his smile. While Benny took hold of Castiel’s other arm, Dean let go and approached the heap on the ground. He sat on the heels of his boots and looked into Zachariah’s face. “Almost broke it?”

“Yes!”

“Hm.” Dean let his own fist fall hard into the man’s bloody nose, eliciting a scream and a satisfying crunch. “There. Hate to leave a job unfinished. And by the way, asshole, if you want to go off and tell somebody a cockslut fairy hit you, you go right ahead. Because I’m ready to tell everybody I know, including Michael Arch, that you were acting exactly like an abusive lover. So that should be fun.”

Zachariah’s mouth dropped open, blood streaming down his face.

Dean smiled at him, winked, and stepped out of the pub, wiping his hands on his jeans.


	25. What is Meant for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets the story of what happened in Purgatory. Not surprisingly, Dean remembers things differently than the way Castiel remembers them.

The door to Dean's house slammed as an enormous man flew in. Castiel cringed.

"What the hell happened?" Sam shouted, tearing off his suit jacket and tie to toss onto the kitchen table.

Dean grinned at him. "Word of advice. Don't piss off the nerd vets."

Castiel sighed.

"Cas? What did you do?” Sam ripped at his top two shirt buttons, as though he were having trouble getting enough air. “I’m leaving work, and I get a text from Benny saying my brother just left Purgatory with an Air Force vet that crushed a guy, and they might want some legal advice. What the actual hell?"

The mechanic began to laugh. "Benny's just screwing with you. It won't come to that. Guy won't press charges. Not unless he wants everybody thinking he was a jealous ex-lover stalking a gay military hero. Because Benny, his buddies at the bar, and I are all happy to make sure everyone knows."

The constant mention of his service record was making Castiel's anxiety worse.

Sam was staring at him. "So it's true? You guys beat up some man at Purgatory?"

"Some douche," Dean corrected.

Sam's finger jabbed at his brother. "You don't get to talk anymore," he snapped. “I thought I was done dealing with you and Benny scrapping like children!”

Castiel’s heart was pounding, and he felt ill. But he was certain he had never seen Dean quite so happy as he was now, with his brother scolding him at an ever-higher pitch.

“Oh, come on!” Dean laughed. “How much dealing is there? It’s done! It’s over! If that guy presses charges, I will hand Cole the keys to my car. There’s no way.”

“That isn’t the point!”

Dean smirked. “That’s a little bit the point.”

Sam conceded. “Okay. Not having charges pressed is a good thing, clearly. But why the hell are we even talking about this?”

“I don’t know. I think we should be drinking to celebrate! It was awesome!” Dean leapt from the couch with an energy Castiel had never seen in him before, and strode toward a liquor cabinet.

“That’s not what I…Why the hell did it happen in the first place?” Sam shouted. He turned to his lover, who felt absolutely miserable. “Cas, what happened?”

“Sammy, the guy had it-"

“You shut up.”

“Killjoy.”

Sam’s jaw was clenched tightly. “So, what? You hang out with my brother three or four times, and now you’re picking bar fights with him? What the hell?”

“Sammy, I’m telling you, Cas didn’t start-“

“It’s like high school all over again!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Dean, I swear, if you speak again, I will kick your ass! I’m not some helpless barfly bastard, and I’ve had it up to here with you! This guy was perfectly even-tempered before he started hanging out with you! How can you possibly have such a horrible influence-”

Castiel swallowed hard while Sam was speaking, and at last found his voice. “The bad influence was you,” he said a bit louder and a little more aggressively than he meant to.

Out of his periphery, he saw Dean’s eyes go wide as he began to pour whiskey into three glasses.

Sam’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Castiel. “What…what does that…”

The older man licked his lips and took a breath. He set his gaze on his own split knuckles, on the bruises developing. As though it weren’t bad enough that he hit Zachariah at all, he had been merciless. He knew better. He had better control than that. What was happening to him? “I didn’t mean you…” He took another breath. “It’s what he said.”

“He said a lot of crap,” Dean interjected quietly, but this time, Sam did not respond.

“He was just…I knew him from the school. I’ve worked with Zach for two years and he never cared for me, especially when I took on admin responsibilities, because I caused more work for him, and I demanded that it be done properly. Documentation for student accommodations, that sort of thing. Things that had been overlooked in the years before I arrived. I always tried to be respectful about it, but he resented…He was drunk tonight. Very drunk.”

“He wasn’t that drunk,” his friend murmured. “And anyway, that don’t excuse the venom he was spitting.”

Sam looked from Dean back to Castiel. “So this was some guy from St. Benedict? What did he say?”

Castiel found that he could not repeat any of what had been said. He looked at Dean with pleading in his eyes.

Dean handed each of them a tumbler of whiskey, then returned to the table for his own. Castiel hoped neither of the brothers could see his hands shaking. “The guy was complete trash, Sammy. He-“

“Dean,” Castiel said suddenly. “Would you mind if I went into your yard with the dog? I think I’d like some air.”

“Yeah, yeah. Riot! Outside, buddy! Go on! Be good!”

Castiel smiled tremulously, and followed the dog out the door. He could still hear the conversation through the screen, but at least he would not have to look at anyone, or be looked at, while these things were said. He watched Riot sniff around the fencing, and sighed. “You don’t like it when things threaten your space, do you, Riot? When things change in your territory. When you think your territory is nice and safe, and then things come in and everything changes. Don’t know what’s yours anymore once the perimeter’s been breached. Don’t know who you are without that safe space you’ve cultivated.”

The voices inside were continuing without him. He was getting a headache.

“So what did this guy say?”

“Christ, what didn’t he say? Had quite a mouth on him for a choir boy, I’ll tell you that. Must have thought me and him were together, started smirking about Cas taking time off from the school so he can go out with guys.”

Sam’s voice was quiet, but not quiet enough. Castiel lowered himself to the porch steps and closed his eyes. “That’s not what he said. What did he actually say, Dean?”

“Talked about him spending these four weeks on his knees, with all different men, that he was corrupting the kids, kept saying he was corrupting the kids. It was the bit about him serving in the Air Force that got to me. It was all I could do not to flatten the asshole right then.”

“I want to know what he said.”

Dean sighed. “Said he didn’t know you could get military honors, medals, for blowing other guys.”

Castiel flinched painfully.

“Shit! So you hit him?”

“No, man. Cas was still trying to tell him to call a cab home. Finally, the guy said something about Michael firing him, and that he was glad he didn’t have to see him in the halls, because it made him sick. I freaking lost it. Cas literally held me back from clocking the guy. You weren’t there, man. You would’ve tried to hit him too. You can scold me all you want, but if you’d been there, I know you wouldn’t have held it together either. But Cas was still cool at that point.”

“So what-"

A strange laugh came from Dean now, and Castiel could not place the emotion behind it. “It was you. Guy made the mistake of calling you something.”

“Me? What?”

“Abomination,” Castiel whispered to himself. “The most beautiful, selfless man I’ve met in my life, and he called him an abomination.”

“Fag abomination.”

  “What? What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

Dean’s odd laugh continued. “I don’t know, but you never saw a guy go from zero to sixty faster than that. One second, this asshat is slurring some nonsense about you being a bad influence on Cas, a fag abomination, and the next second, Cas is past me, on the ground knocking the living shit out of the guy. I swear, man. It was beautiful.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Nothing beautiful about that. Complete, inexcusable loss of control.” He reached his trembling hand out to touch the dog who had finished his perimeter check and was ready for some attention. “It was indulgence I don’t deserve. I deserved to hear everything Zach said, just sit there and soak in all that judgement, because parts of it were true. I don’t deserve to be called a military hero, Riot. People don’t understand that. They think saving some makes you a hero. Saving all, Riot, even that’s just doing your job. And I didn’t even do that. I’m not on the ground because I finished my job. I’m on the ground because I didn’t.” His chest tightened, pressing out the air in his lungs and making it difficult to breathe more in. “But Sam didn’t deserve what Zach said about him. I shouldn’t have let it make me lose my control. But I just snapped. Sam Winchester…he’s not those horrible things, he’s…”

Sam was speaking now, and Castiel did not want to listen. He was humiliated, knowing that Sam now knew what Zachariah had said. But he could hear him all the same.

“So…so he attacked this guy…”

“Because he was talking about you. I’ve been in a lot of fights, Sam, and I’ve never seen a guy’s eyes like that before. Dude, he said he’d kill the guy if he ever said another word about Sam Winchester. Actually said the guy could ask God himself how he feels about gay men. Telling you, it was awesome.”

Castiel did not remember having said such a thing. He remembered very little between the word abomination and being pulled into the night air by Benny. All he could truly remember was red, blood and fury, and the taste.

_The taste._

The pilot’s eyes opened slowly, and his hand stilled in the dog’s fur.

_The taste._

Copper. Thick, stinging copper.

_Maybe another’s coming. Lieutenant, we gotta go now. Through the glass, shouldn’t be able to fire through the glass! Sniper, had to be. Lieutenant! Maybe another’s coming. I don’t know, Lieutenant, maybe another’s coming. Typical arrogant pilot who thought he was God, just because he could fly. Lieutenant’s been hit! Lieutenant, you’re down, you’re all right now. We’ve got you. What are you most afraid of, Sam? Let go, Lieutenant. Spanner! Let go. He’s gone, Cas! Maybe another’s coming. Abomination. I’m not what you want. You’re just too good to know better. You scare the shit out of me. He was aiming for the Lieutenant, hit Balt instead! Corrupt, sick every time we see him, through the glass. Taking fire, Lieutenant, we gotta go now! You presumptuous, conceited child! I don’t deserve this! Textbook landing, Lieutenant. Beautiful landing. You’re a hero, gratitude of two families. Cas is too good a man to hit you. And Balt. Every other memory. He’ll get full honors. Abomination. You saved those people. That was my job. He never should have taken what should have been mine. Abomination. Waste. Sick every time we see him. I don’t need you to care about me. I just want to be here for you. I will not lie about who I am. We’ve got you, Lieutenant. I’m not made for the ground. I’m supposed to be up there somewhere-where no one threatens to love me. He’s gone, Cas._

Castiel began to breathe heavily.

_You’re finished, Lieutenant. You can rest now. All the time you spend on your knees! Went right to the Church. I promised God and Balt that I would never feel the things Balt should be feeling instead._

Sweat was beading at his hairline and his hands were suddenly cold.

_I’ve always been alone. I haven’t always been so lonely. One last thing the angel Castiel is. The angel of solitude. That touch is something I can’t have if he can’t. I wanted you so badly. I will always fail. Thought you were some military hero. Let go, Lieutenant. He’s gone, Cas. Abomination. Waste. Sick every time we see him._

It was as though he could not get enough air into his lungs.

_He’s gone. Maybe another’s coming._

Hands were on him suddenly, gripping his shoulders, and steadying him. He had not even realized he was falling. He was not even sure where he was!

 Red tears blocked his vision as he pushed himself away from the strong hands. He could hear them calling his name.

_Lieutenant, you’re down! You’re all right now. We’ve got you. Let go, Lieutenant. Spanner!_

 “Spanner!”

His eyes struggled to focus. That voice was different. He frowned severely, trying to pull himself out of the darkness inside his own head.

“Cas?”

Another voice, a softer one. The one belonging to the man whose hands were on him.

“Cas, you’re all right.”

_You’re all right now. We’ve got you. Let go, Lieutenant._

“It’s all right, Cas.”

_He was aiming for the Lieutenant!_

“Spanner, you with us, man?”

There was a dog barking nearby. Castiel blinked hard. “Sam?”

“Shh. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Castiel touched his own neck, where the remains of his scar broke his skin, with a quaking hand. “He was aiming for me,” he whispered hoarsely.

Sam nodded, and wrapped his arms around him very gently. “I know, man. I know.”

He let his eyes slip closed for a moment, let the warmth of Sam press into him, then he stepped back and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I deserved this. You don’t. I can’t let you take what’s meant to hurt me. I’m so sorry.” Tears were sliding down his cheeks unchecked. “I just can’t let you…” He was falling again.

But now there was someone to catch him, strong, warm arms he knew he loved, but could not identify.

The other voice was speaking now, and he focused on it as he grew lightheaded.

“Spanner, you been dealing alone for a long time. You got friends now, and we’re going to take care of you. You stood up for my brother tonight. You’re family, Cas. Like it or not, you ain’t alone anymore.”

Castiel sighed as he was led into someone’s house, unable to carry most of his weight, and then he was lying on a bed, and there were voices around him. It was probably important for him to listen, but he let blackness overwhelm him. He was just so tired. There was so much blood everywhere. On his uniform. In his eyes. In his mouth. Just for a while, he would let himself fall asleep. Falling.

_Beautiful landing, Lieutenant._

Landed. Grounded. Fallen...


	26. Too Late on Thursday, Too Early on Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that strange time of night when there still could be time to sleep, but work starts in just a few hours and there hasn't been any sleep yet.

Sam threw back his third glass, and felt Dean watching him. “Go ahead. You got something to say.”

“He’s hurting. Bad.”

Hazel eyes closed wearily. “I know. Do you think…” He could not even continue. If Dean said something about Castiel being too broken, too messed up, too volatile…He was just not sure what he would do.

“I think he’s going to need you here when he wakes up.”

A tired smile flitted across his face. “That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

Dean shrugged. He poured himself and Sam another drink, while Sam finished off Castiel’s. “Sammy, the guy just flew at another guy for suggesting you were anything short of perfect.”

“There’s a lot between fag abomination and perfect.”

“And you think Cas would put you where on that spectrum?”

The smile softened. “Cas has a bit of a skewed view of my worth.”

“I think he’s right on. And I’m glad you’re finally with somebody who gets it.”

Sam looked up to find Dean staring into his glass.

Finally, the older man sighed. “Okay. You eat on your way?”

“Thinking you and Cas were getting arrested or sued? No. I didn’t stop for a burger.”

Dean laughed at him, and gestured for Sam to follow him into the kitchen. “What do you want?”

Sam shook his head absently, glancing back over his shoulder at the quiet hall. “I can fix something.”

“But you won’t. So what are you feeling like?” 

“I feel like my boyfriend just beat up some guy he works with because he’s been triggered for a post-traumatic episode, replete with flashback and disorientation, and his world is crashing down around him, all because of me, and I’m completely useless to him.”

Dean paused in his search of the refrigerator. He looked back at his brother. “I meant what do you feel like eating.”

“I know,” he sighed.

Dean grabbed several items and went to work without Sam’s input, and the younger man was left free to wonder about the situation.

He stared at nothing for a while before speaking. “Man, do you ever think some people are just cursed? The only friend Cas seems to have ever had in his life took a bullet for him. Why is that okay? Guy has no family, no friends, nothing but his career, and he’s good at what he does, doesn’t ever ask for more, and this guy dies saving him, and he loses everything. Years later, he takes a chance on me, just a weekend thing, let loose for just a few hours, and now he’s being ousted from his job, and for what? Because he dared to be happy for a while? I’m not a religious guy, but come on! Where is God in all this? Maybe He really does just hate fags.”

Green eyes flashed at him in warning. “Don’t you use that word. Cas just beat down a guy for using that word.”

“And that’s another thing,” Sam added, gulping at his drink again. When had Dean poured him another? “Do you ever just think maybe your life would be easier if your kid brother didn’t come lay all his shit at your door? Like, maybe you could be out on a date right now if your kid brother didn’t bring home strays he can’t take care of on his own. He’s like Riot. You called it, before you even met him. I wasn’t going to bring him home at all, but I fell in love, and now he’s your problem.”

“Sammy, stop. I like Cas.”

He tossed back the last of his drink. The act of throwing his head back seemed to make him dizzy. “Yeah, okay, but wouldn’t you rather I stopped showing up? You could be out with some woman; hell, you’re Dean effing Winchester. You could be out with two or three of them.”

Dean snorted.

“So instead, you’re standing there calmly making me a sandwich while my exhausted, mild-mannered, bar-brawling head case sleeps off a panic attack in the next room, and I’m drinking all your liquor.” He paused. “That’s not a sandwich. What is it?” 

“Real food. And no. I wouldn’t rather that you stopped showing up, with or without your head cases. And as far as head cases go, one that’s willing to stand up for you isn’t a bad one.”

Sam could feel himself sighing heavily. “He’s a great one.”

“Slow down a little, Sammy. You’re kind of drunk.”

“I’m a lot of drunk. When the hell did I drink so much? Thought it was just a few.”

“When did you eat last?”

He thought back. “I don’t think I ate today. Probably lunch yesterday.”

Dean waited.

“Maybe breakfast yesterday.”

“Uh huh. I’d put money on your last actual meal being Tuesday night here when I fed you a burger. Now it’s Friday morning at three. Sit. Stop drinking. Just sit. You forget to eat when you’re stressed. As high-strung as you’ve been your whole life, it’s amazing you ever made it to five feet tall, let alone six four.”

“And a half.”

“What?” 

“And a half.”

“Half of what?”

“What?”

Dean was rolling his eyes at him, but Sam was not sure why.

Sam sighed. “Should I check on Cas?”

“Not unless you’re sure you won’t throw up on him. Dude, sit and eat this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s just grilled cheese. Eat it.”

“This is not grilled cheese.”

Dean flashed his heavy green glare at him. “It’s grilled cheese. It’s chopped roasted pepper, swiss and cheddar, with diced turkey pepperoni and some fresh tomato, on rye, with light butter and a bit of garlic powder. Grilled cheese.”

 Sam stared at the plate. “When the fuck did you make this?”

His brother’s hands flew up. “Just now! You watched me!”

He shook his head. “Sorcery,” he muttered, as he bit into the goopy sandwich. His stomach leapt with gratitude after the first bite, and he had to wait for it to settle down before he took another. “Damn, that’s good.”

Dean went back to rolling his eyes, and busied his hands cleaning the pan and knives. “You need to call out of work. You’re still going to be drunk by the time you have to drive.”

Sam waved this away. “I’ve put in like sixty hours already this week. Maybe more. I’ll just leave Luke a message and email the board chair.” He closed his eyes as he enjoyed several more bites of his meal, and when he opened them, Dean was staring at him. “What?” he said uneasily.  

“That’s it? You’re just going to take the day off?”

“Yeah.” He picked at a fallen piece of tomato. “Why?”

“Dude, I know you’re drunk, but…You never call out of work. You take the day after Thanksgiving, and your birthday off. Have you ever taken more than that?”

“No. But I can.”

“Okay. Good.”

“You don’t take days off either.”

Dean conceded this with a nod. “But I leave at the end of the day. I close and go home. You’re always at Triad.”

Sam quietly finished his meal and handed his plate to Dean, who proceeded to wash it. Then he reached for the liquor again, but Dean moved faster, without even looking up from the sink, and it disappeared out of his grasp before he could pour more. He sighed. “Look, there’s a guy in your guest room, hurting like hell, and I’m not going to just leave him to deal with this on his own. I can make up work later. He needs me now.”

His brother was smiling. He shook his hands over the sink, and turned off the water. Finally, he met Sam’s eyes again. “Okay. You feeling better?”

The food seemed to have balanced out the alcohol somewhat, and his head was minutely clearer. “Yeah. I really am. Thank you.”

Dean nodded. He left the kitchen and gripped Sam’s arm on his way by him. “I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before I screw up somebody’s wheels in a few hours. Help yourself to the guest room. Let me know if you two need something. Come on, Riot. Your daddy’s busy tonight. You come sleep with me.”

Sam smiled to himself. Riot had not been Sam’s dog for a very long time, but Dean still pretended he was just watching him till Sam got a bigger place. No matter how big a home and yard Sam found one day, there was no way he would separate Dean and Riot at this point.

As soon as the door to the guest room was opened, Sam could hear that Castiel was suffering in his sleep. He hurried to the side of the bed to sit next to him and put his hand on the man’s face. His skin was cold but sweaty.

Immediately, Castiel’s breathing normalized, and he reached up to hold Sam’s wrist gently. Sam thought he was pushing him away at first, but then he realized Castiel was clutching him, holding him in place. He gave him a small smile when the eyes opened. “Hey there.”

Castiel sighed. “Sam.”

“I’m here, Cas.”

“Thank you for being here.” He blinked hard. “Where is here?”

“We’re at my brother’s place. You came here after…”  

“After fighting with Zachariah at Purgatory. I remember.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. What else do you remember?”

Castiel’s voice was hoarse. “I’m not…Sam, I can’t talk about that. Not yet.”

He did not know what to say, so he responded, “All right. If you think you want to, I’ll be waiting.” 

The look of gratitude made Sam’s stomach even warmer than the whiskey had. “Thank you, Sam.”

“May I lie with you?”

“Please.”

Sam stripped them both down to their tee shirts and boxers. He was surprised, and very happy, that Castiel let him pull off his layers and tuck him into the blankets. He slid in beside him, and kissed the man’s forehead softly. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Is there anything you _would_ like to talk about?”

“Yes.”

Sam waited in silence for nearly five minutes before Castiel spoke again.

“Sam, I think I love you. I mean…I do love you. Is that all right?”

Hazel eyes slipped closed, and he pulled his lover closer against his chest. “Yeah,” he whispered happily. “Yeah, Cas, that’s far more than all right. I love you.”

“I don’t know how, but I’ll figure out how to love you. I have never felt like this before. I’m so…Sam, I’m so lost right now. But I’m going to find my way, and I’m going to do whatever it takes. See me through this, Sam, please, just see me through this now, and I will do anything, anything, to make you happy for as long as you’ll have me. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, and I’ve never…I’ve never needed anyone at all. I’ve worked my whole life to never need anyone. I need you now, Sam, and…Please just see me through this.”

Sam’s heart was filled to bursting, and suddenly he was wide awake in spite of all the lost sleep and stress. He held Castiel, and curled into him, kissing his face, then his forehead, then his hands. “Cas, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Castiel began to weep quietly, pushing his face into Sam’s chest. “I love you, Sam. I’m so in love with you it hurts. I’m so in love with you that everything else hurts just a little bit less.”

“Then let’s see you through this, Cas. I know you’re not used to it, but let me take care of you for a while.”

The older man’s tears spilled onto his chest, and they lay that way until sleep finally took them both.

***

Dean grinned sleepily at Riot. “It was a good night, buddy. I can’t explain it. It was just a really good night. That guy…I know it messed with his head, but I think he can get past that. Sammy and me, we’ll help him. But it was good. I think…I think I needed a night of letting go. As much as Cas needs some friends, I think…maybe he’s what I’ve needed too. I needed shaking up. I just didn’t know it. I think tomorrow, I’m going to…Riot, what would your daddy think of me if I made an appointment to talk to somebody? I didn’t ever think I…After seeing Cas lose it tonight, and…”

He took a deep breath, and the dog watched him and waited. “I didn’t realize how messed up I’ve been till I suddenly felt good tonight. It would probably be okay just to check it out, right? So long as it isn’t like cheesy meditation crap or something. And so long as I didn’t have to miss work for it. What would your daddy say, Riot?”

Riot tilted his head at him.

“Yeah,” Dean responded. “That’s what I thought too. I’ll just text Garth and see if he can ask Bess if she works with any shrinks who see losers like me.”

The dog yipped, then snuggled into Dean’s arms.

“Thanks, buddy,” he whispered. “But don’t tell your daddy. He’s got enough on his plate as it is. He don’t need something stupid like this to worry about.”


	27. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max learns something disturbing about school politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kvetch is definitely a word for complaining or whining. Zachariah needed a last name, after all.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as Max sifted through the office. Zachariah Kvetch was probably the least organized secretary on the planet. It made going through his things at three in the morning on a Friday much more difficult.

Breaking into the school was easy enough. And he certainly did not need to worry about the security cameras, since...well, since that was the whole point. Picking the lock into Mr. Kvetch's office had been easier than he had expected. Max was a quick study, but just watching a few videos online should not have been enough to turn him into a cat burglar. It was amazing what one could do while motivated. And Max was motivated.

He had been heading for Father Raphael's office, wanting to purge some of the more violent and angry thoughts he was having about the way Dr. Spanner had been run off. It had been naïve of him to think that Father Raphael would be just as distressed about the way Dr. Spanner had been treated as he was. Surely, the priest would understand what the teacher had meant to him, and give him guidance about how to deal with the loss of his hero and mentor.

Instead, he had overheard the conversation between the Father and the secretary.

"You can't erase it. Michael will want to see it."

"Michael should be here. He isn't. He's off doing God knows what in Italy while his school falls to pieces, and fills with corruption and abominations."

Max's eyes narrowed. Had Father Raphael just referred to Dr. Spanner as an abomination? Surely he was talking about something else.

"That center across the street. It's the problem. It's that fairy lawyer Spanner's been hanging out with. I mean, Spanner's always been a pain, but he wasn't...this! Not until that disgusting behemoth from Triad showed up."

Father Raphael's voice was quieter now, and Max strained to hear. "Madge means nothing. She's devout and that trumps everything. But she doesn't concern me. It's the rest of Scott's family that is the problem. They've donated millions over the course of the last few years. It's why Michael continues to let the stupid child pass all his classes."

"Exactly. Michael's going to want to see the security footage because he can use that if he ever needs to. But in the meantime, what do I do with it?"

Father Raphael sighed. "I'm not letting the vandalism of some sodomizer's car destroy the relationship we have with one of the wealthiest Catholic families in the area. Lock the tape in your office desk until Michael returns. Is it off your computer?"

"Yeah. I just transferred it to the disc, then wiped all that week off the records."

"Lock it in your desk," Father Raphael said again. "Lord, the things I do for Michael Arch."

"You and me both, Father."

Max had slipped away unnoticed. But now he was back, and the fury in his heart finally had a target. Somewhere in this office was a disc which would show, not only who had vandalized Dr. Spanner's car, but that Mr. Kvetch and Father Raphael had hidden it instead of reporting it. Max did not know much about the law, but it seemed to him there was something quite wrong with that.

It turned out that the hardest part was breaking into the actual desk. Thus far, Max had managed not to damage anything. But he was just about to conclude that he would need to destroy the wood somehow when his gaze finally found what he was looking for.

He grabbed the keys hanging behind the door, and opened Mr. Kvetch's desk drawers. The CD was sitting right there on top of everything, with the date of the crime written on it in black permanent marker. He snatched the CD, closed and locked the desk, returned the keys, and took a moment to return everything to the state it had been in when he had entered. He had already sought out a security camera, and apparently there were none on the interior of the building. Since he knew how to avoid the ones on the exterior, there was no evidence that he had been there. His gloves would leave no prints, and everything was just as it should be, except for the missing disc, which he suspected would not be noticed for many days, then thought to have been misplaced. Why would anyone think it had been stolen? No one but the two men even knew it existed.

Except for Max.

An hour later, Max was lying awake in the bed at the only real home he had ever had, in the only place he had ever felt safe, thinking of what he owed Dr. Spanner, and exactly how he was going to repay his hero.


	28. In a Small Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you work in a small town, you learn that sometimes the rules to the game don't always apply...or you learn how to play the game better than anyone else.

Max was trembling. He had no idea what was going to happen now. He had to believe he was doing the right thing. But he also knew he might be getting himself into trouble he could not get out of.

When the officer came to escort him to his office, he could barely breathe. The officer did not speak until he had gestured toward a chair and Max had sat.

"I'm told you needed to speak with me? What's going on, kid?"

Max forced a breath into his lungs, then another. When that seemed to be working out all right, he tried talking. "Yes, sir. You-you don't know me, but-"

"Of course I do," the man interrupted. "Max, yeah? I locked up your daddy. He contact you?"

The boy stared, eyes wide. "You...remember me?"

"Wasn't that long ago. And some things stick out in your head no matter how long it's been. Your father or uncle try to contact you?"

His tremors only increased, but he shook his head. "No, sir. No, I just...I remembered how much you helped me. After...after you arrested...and you helped me understand what was going on with the judge, and...And do you remember what you said about my stepmom?"

The officer shrugged. "What?"

"You said...you said that knowing a crime is going on, and not reporting it, or covering it up...you said that was a crime too."

He nodded slowly. "Depends a little on the circumstances. But, yeah. Seems about right. Do you know about a crime you need to tell me about?"

Max pulled the disc out of his backpack, heart pounding. "It's...about my teacher. At St. Benedict's."

"What's going on, Max? Your teacher doing something he shouldn't?"

"No!" Max shouted. Then he flushed, and felt tears stinging his eyes. "No. They say so, but he's not. And who the hell gets to judge that anyway? I mean, Dr. Spanner is-he's a hero! But all of the sudden, he starts...I don't know... _spending time_ with that lawyer from The Triad Center across the street, and now they made him leave, and he's..." The tears were spilling over. "And they know who did it to him, who trashed his car, but they hid it, so the kid that did it, Scott, he's going to get away with hurting Dr. Spanner like that, and it isn't right!"

The officer leaned across his desk and gripped Max's arm. "Okay, Max. Slow down. Did you say this Spanner guy is hanging out with the lawyer at Triad?"

"Yeah, and so what? So the guy is gay! Or...or bisexual or whatever. I don't know. Doesn't mean he isn't a hero! Mr. Arch says he's got medals that say so; it isn't just me! And, what, now that doesn't matter? Now it's okay to write shit all over his car?"

"Is that what happened? Someone vandalized the guy's car?"

"Yeah. Scott. It's right here. And the priest and Mr. Kvetch know, and they just hid the video of it, and said they were going to keep it till the Headmaster gets back, and show him so he can make sure he still gets donations from Scott's family, but they weren't going to show the police because his family _does_ donate, and does that seem right? That can't be right, can it, even if Dr. Spanner didn't report it himself? If my stepmom can't watch me get the shit beaten out of me without telling somebody, Father Raphael and Mr. Kvetch can't not tell the police about this, right?"

The officer took a deep breath. "Should I ask how you got this, Max?"

He wiped at the tears on his face, sniffing. "Wish you wouldn't," he mumbled. "Probably it was in Mr. Kvetch's desk when I was looking for a pen."

"Hm. This is what we call an anonymous tip, Max."

His eyes looked hard into the officer's face. "Is that okay?"

He nodded. "Max, you asked to speak to me specifically. Said you wouldn't talk to anybody else. How come?"

"Because I trust you," he whispered.

"And you need to trust me now. Trust me that even if these men aren't going to jail for this, they will be very, very sorry they messed with your hero."

Max took a breath and smiled. "Do I just go now?"

"Yeah. Don't talk to anyone about this. It's an anonymous tip, remember? Otherwise we're going to have to talk about where you got it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Red tape will kill ya, kid. But just trust me about this, okay? You did right bringing it in. You going to keep your nose clean? No more looking for pens?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir! I promise."

He smiled. "Then get outta my office and let me make a few calls."

Max bit his lip as he closed his bag and walked toward the door. "Thank you, sir. For all of this, and back a year ago too."

"Of course, kid. Get going. Come by anytime you need to. Anonymously or otherwise."

Finally, Max smiled too. "Yes, sir."

***

As the door closed behind the troubled kid, Victor Henriksen chuckled to himself. He lifted his personal cellphone and looked up a number online. He pushed the disk into his laptop while the phone rang. He went through two levels of secretaries before reaching his target, and in that time, he watched as a skinny kid marked up a guy's ride in broad daylight.

"This is Gabriel Arch."

"Mr. Arch. This is Victor Henriksen over at county. You and I have met on a few occasions. I was on the escort security detail for your cousin Bartholomew's campaign stops."

"Victor. Sure. What can I do for the lovely boys in blue today?"

"Oh, I just thought, since I seem to have lost the number to your brother Michael's cell and couldn't reach him, maybe you could get a message to him."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment. Then he took a breath. "Anything I can do to help Michael. Hope nothing's wrong."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't mind me telling you about a little trouble over at his school. It's such a small town, Mr. Arch. I'm sure you're familiar enough with the personnel over there?"

"I'm on the board, as a matter of fact."

"Really? I had no idea."

"Yes," Gabriel said dryly. "I'm sure you didn't."

"Then you're going to want to know about a potentially embarrassing situation I intercepted before it hit social media. I know how much the Arch family likes scandal."

Gabriel sighed. "Perhaps I should clear my schedule."

Victor grinned and sat back in his chair.

***

Sam was not planning on answering his phone all day. But when it rang at noon, while driving Castiel back to his house, he glanced at it, and frowned. He pressed the speaker button, and cleared his throat.

"Victor. What's going on, man?"

"Heya, Sammy. Miss me?"

"Like a toothache, Vic," he sighed. Like a heartache was more accurate, but the pain had faded into just a twinge of anxiety over the last few weeks.

Victor laughed. "So can we be blunt?"

"That would be new for both of us."

Castiel glanced at him curiously.

"Right. Well, I think we've learned our lessons about not being direct. So I hear you're shagging a guy from St. Benedict's, Michael Arch's school for the religious and wealthy elite too good to go to public school like the rest of us did."

Castiel's face twisted in annoyance.

Sam sighed. "When you said blunt..."

"He your pair of blue eyes, Sammy?"

"Maybe he is, Vic. What do you care?"

"I care because he sounds like a great guy."

Both Sam and Castiel's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"His students love him, turns out. All but one. And that one is about to get a come-to-Jesus like he never got from that priest over there."

"What the hell-"

"Got hold of a security feed that shows a kid going to town on some poor guy's car. Can't be sure whose car, since you can't seem to see the plates. But you sure can see the kid's face."

Castiel flinched.

"You know his name?" Sam asked quietly.

"Kid named Scott Carey. I'm off for the next few hours, thought I'd swing by his grandmother's place. She's a regular up at the station. Always got dirt on some neighbor or another. Thought she'd be interested in hearing what the kid's been up to."

Sam glanced at Castiel worriedly. "But no charges?"

"If the owner of the car wants to press charges, we can see what we can do. But I think we both know what happens to rich kids like this. Won't even go to trial."

"So...you're going to just scare the shit out of him."

"It's what I do."

He saw Castiel sigh in relief. "Yeah," Sam replied. "I bet the owner of the car would prefer that. I bet he's the kind of saint that doesn't want the kid to get a juvie record no matter how much he deserves it. I, on the other hand, think scaring the shit out of him and embarrassing his evil bitch grandma is a wonderful idea."

"Thought you might."

"Thank you, Vic. You know how easily all this could have just been shoved under the rug with no consequences."

"Small town politics, Sammy. I've been fighting it since rookie year. I know how to play the game now. And you know what I used to say..."

Sam burst into laughter as he turned in to Castiel's neighborhood. "They call you Victor for a reason."

"Yes they do, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he laughed.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Don't get yourself in any trouble, Vic."

"Me? No. I got my ass covered three ways to Thursday. You just take care of that teacher of yours, and let me do the rest."

Sam's heart swelled happily. "Thank you, Vic," he said again. He stopped the car outside Castiel's home, and smirked at the neighbor's house, knowing there would soon be a police cruiser sitting in the driveway.

"Yeah. Figured...figured it was the least I could do for you. You were always a good friend, Sammy. Better than I deserved. This guy...hope he knows you're the best thing in a thousand mile radius, especially in this backwater town."

"Good luck with your come-to-Jesus."

Victor snorted. "Have a good weekend, Sam."

"You too, Vic."

They were silent until they had shut the door to the house behind them. Castiel reached up and closed his window curtains firmly. Then he took Sam by the shoulders and looked up into his eyes. “I don’t know who your friend is, or what sort of friend he’s been. And I don’t know if I like him. But he’s right. You’re the best thing in a thousand miles.”

“At least,” he laughed softly.

“At least,” Castiel agreed.

Sam bent at the neck and gently held Castiel’s face in his hands. When they touched, there was no urgency, no insistence. There was just soft lips on soft lips, Castiel’s fingers curling into Sam’s hair at the back of his neck. It was exactly the type of kiss Sam loved most, one that did not feel like it could be the last one. One that promised more to come.

“I love you,” he breathed finally, putting their foreheads together in the way he had found made Castiel a bit dizzy, and steadied him with his strong arms when he felt him sway. “God, I love you.”

The blue eyes looked up at him with Castiel’s wide open soul shining through unfiltered. “I love you, Sam,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I’ve said it, but you are worth everything that has happened. You are worth everything and anything that could happen. I don’t _know_ what’s going to happen. In the coming weeks, I just…don’t know. But I am grateful for you. So, so grateful for you.”

Pleasure flushed his skin, and he reached in for another kiss. He hummed happily. “Everything will be fine, Cas. I promise.”

Castiel nodded slowly, and took Sam’s hands. “I need to spend some time today looking…you know…for a job.”

Sam cringed. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s the prudent thing to do, Sam. But I thought…Perhaps you could sit with me while I do it. I want to do some research online before I contact anyone, and…I would appreciate the company, since you don’t seem to be going to work today yourself.”

“Of course. I’ll get some work done on my computer while you’re busy on yours.”

Suddenly, Castiel smiled up at him. “That sounds terribly domestic.”

Sam laughed at this. “What’s wrong with that?” he demanded.

“Nothing, except I’ve spent thirty years not wanting that. And suddenly I feel like it might be kind of nice.”

He could not help beaming at the man. “Good,” he responded, and he pushed Castiel back into the front door gently. “Because there’s something to be said for a little domesticity.”

Castiel’s eyebrow went up, and Sam was reminded of a cat assessing his prey. “I’m glad you think so.” He turned faster than Sam could think, and shoved Sam’s chest into the same door, and suddenly there were hands under Sam’s tee shirt, and hot breath on the back of his neck and a knee shoving between his knees. He gasped in shock, and found his shirt rising up over his head. He assisted in pulling it off, and felt teeth cutting their way up his skin, sending shudders of arousal through his whole body. Two hands and a hot mouth were everywhere, pressing into his skin, dragging over his muscles until he was trembling. His eyes closed; his mouth fell slack.

His lover’s impossible voice was behind his ear now. “It occurs to me,” he purred, “that perhaps we could be exploring other aspects of domesticity. And if you aren’t heading for the bedroom, I might very well explore you right here in the hall.”

Sam smiled and licked his lips. “I might let you. But the bedroom sounds good too.”

When he turned to look at Castiel, he was overwhelmed by the quiet confidence and naked adoration on the man’s handsome face. “Then go,” the growling voice commanded, and Sam grinned. He took the stairs two at a time, feeling the older man stalking behind him with purpose. He shivered happily.


	29. Back on Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They lost their way somewhere along the line.

Against the legal advice of the lawyer in his bed, Castiel crafted a letter of resignation, stating that he had become disillusioned with the administration at the school. He gave no specifics, but assured the board and Headmaster that he greatly appreciated the time he had with his students and their families, and felt that most of the faculty were among the best educators he had ever met. It was with a broken heart, he wrote, that he had accepted that it was time for him to resign, effective immediately.

Sam had been too angry to speak after reading it, and had slammed the bedroom door between them.

Castiel sighed. He leaned on the wall next to the door, paper in hand. "There isn't any point in fighting against it, Sam. I'm a professional, and I will go out with dignity, even if it isn't truly my choice to go out at all."

There was no response, nor did he expect one.

"You have to choose your battles, Sam. I'm choosing to get therapy for my issues from service. That's painful enough. I can't..." His voice hitched in his throat, but he closed his eyes and pushed forward. "I can't fight a war on two fronts, Sam."

At last, the door opened, and Sam stepped out. He shook his head sadly. His anger had dissipated into weariness. "I know, Cas. I don't have to like it, do I?"

"No. But I'd appreciate it if you supported it."

A deep sigh came from Sam then, and he took Castiel's hands in his. "I will always support you."

Castiel was oblivious to his own tears until they were sliding down his cheeks. "Even if I'm cowardly?"

Sam clenched his jaw and closed his eyes in a flinch. It took him a moment before he could speak. "Castiel, you are the strongest person I know. Don't you ever let these hateful people make you think anything less of the man I love. They do not have the right."

So Sunday night was spent in quiet anticipation. The weeks leading up to the next morning had been exhausting in the extreme. Castiel found that he could neither sleep nor eat, and he was simply staring at his book without seeing the words.

Something very strange had happened over the course of the last few weeks. Sometimes Castiel's phone buzzed when he wasn't expecting it to, and he found himself staring at a text message he had trouble believing was meant for him. This happened several times Sunday night.

"You going to answer that?" Sam prodded gently from where he lay facedown in the pillow.

Castiel blinked. "It wasn't yours?"

"No."

He frowned and looked at his phone.

"Hey, fly boy. Drinks are on me tomorrow. Come in any time."

"Who is it?"

Castiel licked his lips. "Benny Lafitte."

Sam grunted. "Dean must've told him you're quitting tomorrow. What's he want?"

"To...offer me alcohol."

The large man snorted softly. "Benny's answer to everything."

"I received something from Cole Trenton earlier. I thought-I thought it was for you. But it wasn't."

"Cole? What's he got to say?" He rolled over to face the older man.

Castiel showed Sam his phone without a word.

"This is Cole from the party for Sammy. Just saying kick ass tomorrow, and don't let anybody give you any shit." Sam laughed. "Cole's a good guy." He scrolled down through Castiel's other messages. "Charlie and Jo are offering cookies and beer respectively. Nice. Ah. That's creepy. You've been texting with Victor. That's something to feed my anxiety for weeks to come. He says to call if you have any trouble at the school tomorrow, and to tell me..." Sam blushed a deep red.

"I didn't think you wanted me to tell you that," Castiel chuckled.

"No. Good choice. Five texts from my obsessive big brother. Great. Look, Madison! She's talking about the auction. That's cool."

Castiel reached for the phone. "That's enough."

Sam pulled it away as it buzzed again. "No, wait." He sat straight up in the bed, staring at the phone. "Cas? Castiel, read this. Who is Naomi?"

"The school's board president..." Castiel drew in a hiss of breath through his teeth. "What...what does that mean?"

Sam winced. "I think it means she wants you to call her. It says-"

"I see what it says!" Castiel grabbed the phone and stared at it.

"Dr. Spanner, at your earliest convenience, preferably tonight, please call me at this number. -Naomi Haven."

"Cas?"

"Not a word. Promise me."

"Of course."

Castiel nodded and stood in his tee shirt and jogging pants, and called the number, pressing the speaker phone option for Sam's benefit.

"This is Naomi."

"Ms. Haven, this is Castiel Spanner. I...I assume you received my letter of resignation in your email this morning."

"Yes, and the board held an emergency meeting this afternoon. We've decided not to accept your resignation as it is written now."

Castiel put his hand over his forehead. He could see Sam's eyes flashing with anger and suspicion. "Is there something wrong with it, ma'am?"

"Not precisely. Of course you are welcome to leave it at that. We can't make you stay. But we would like to ask you to."

He narrowed his eyes. "I-I don't understand. Perhaps you haven't been made aware-"

"Oh, I've been made aware. I did accept a resignation today, Dr. Spanner. Three, in fact. Just not yours. I wanted you to know before I filed yours that there are three staff members who will no longer be at the school, in case that changes your mind."

His eyes locked on Sam's. "Who is that?"

"Mr. Kvetch, Father Raphael and Michael Arch," Naomi said with an air of irritation that Castiel understood was not meant for him.

He was silent. Sam began to grin crookedly.

"Dr. Spanner, our mission has always been the care of the students and their families, and the moral and spiritual leadership of the school must be our focus. Somewhere along the line, we've lost our way. That has become clear to us over the last few days. It seems Mr. Kvetch and Father Raphael will be finding employment which better suits their values, and Mr. Arch has determined that he is in a position to step down as Headmaster. There was some confusion regarding our policies on soliciting donations for our general fund, and Mr. Arch has decided it would be best left to someone who understands the laws better."

Now Sam's grin took on a feral, wicked look of delight. Castiel had to look away. "This was sudden, wasn't it?"

"The school will be completely refreshed at the administrative level. For now, I would like you to resume your classroom duties in the morning, and until the end of the year, when we can renegotiate your contract. After the summer hiatus, we would like you to return to a full time teaching schedule. Would you be interested in that?"

Castiel's eyes slipped closed and he gave a jagged sigh of relief. Sam reached out to grip his hand. "Yes, ma'am. I would like that very, very much."

"Dr. Spanner, I don't know if you have been keeping up with the art project for the students you set in motion a month ago. Gabriel Arch is a member of our board, and he allowed the students to set up the gallery today, with a teacher named Hannah. After the board meeting, he and I went to see how they were getting along. Dr. Spanner, in case you don't know, you are well-loved by our student body, and the faculty have a great deal of respect for you, as do many prominent members of our community. It would make me happy if you would repeal your letter of resignation. If at the end of the year you still feel this isn't the place for you, we will wish you well and it will be our loss. We've made mistakes, Dr. Spanner, and we will need your help in correcting ourselves if we are to get back on track to our true mission, which is the care of our children."

"Ms. Haven, I'm not planning a lawsuit, if that's what you're worried about."

"Of course you're not. You wouldn't have resigned if that were the case. You'd be waiting for Michael to fire you."

Sam laughed at the way Naomi's professional demeanor slipped into irritation for the Headmaster. He covered his mouth when Castiel glowered at him.

Naomi cleared her throat. "Dr. Spanner, the school was founded by the Arch family, generations ago. But the board has the power to make changes, and we are endeavoring to do so now. It doesn't hurt that Gabriel Arch, Michael's brother, is supportive of the changes we are implementing. You didn't hear this from me, but he was the one who encouraged Michael to resign as Headmaster and step back from the board to focus on his love of traveling. I suspect we may lose a few of our oldest families, and it will hurt in the first few years. But we should be a school which is leading the way with collaborative projects like the one you created. Our students need to understand that different isn't something to be feared. Different is something St. Benedict students should be aspiring to, with strong faith and good teachers to guide them."

"Yes, ma'am. I don't think...I've never thought that our beliefs are...incompatible with compassion and empathy. I truly believe we...we have a responsibility to teach these students how to debate and-and question without resorting to-to disrespect of those who have different perspectives. Our faith is not static, Ms. Haven...or it shouldn't be. I feel my students should...should consider it a living, growing, developing part of their souls and minds. Teaching them that intimidation and humiliation is more effective than intellectual and philosophical discussion is as dangerous to our kids as it is for-for everyone they encounter in their lives."

"Well said, Dr. Spanner. I can see why you are a favorite among the students. Can I count on you to take over your classes again in the morning, and to be in attendance at the gallery on Wednesday evening?"

Castiel sighed. "Yes, ma'am. That's all I wanted to do."

"Dr. Spanner, I'm sorry for the incidents which lead to your resignation. Thank you for giving us the chance to show that the school as a whole is made of people who place education and proven leadership above idle rumors."

He stared into Sam's eyes for another moment, then swallowed with difficulty. "They were rumors, Ms. Haven. But they weren't entirely untrue. I'm a gay Catholic educator, Ms. Haven. And I don't lie about who I am. Just so we are clear."

"Help us refocus on our mission, Castiel, and no one will ever ask you to lie about anything of the sort. Good night, Dr. Spanner. I hope to see you at the gallery on Wednesday."

"Yes, ma'am. It will be my great pleasure."

When the phone dropped to the bed, Castiel suddenly found himself with an armful of Sam, holding him so tightly he nearly could not breathe.

"I'm so proud of you! God, Cas, you're my damn hero, you know that? I love you so much, and I'm so, so proud of you!"

Castiel sank down onto the bed, trembling head to toe, and almost instantly fell to sleep.

Sam kissed him, and set his alarm.


	30. And the show goes on...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Collaboration. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. There will be a very short epilogue to follow, which will be marked as Chapter 31.

_Dean shifted his weight in the chair. It was easier this time than it had been the first three sessions. It wasn't so bad, really. Dr. Anael seemed not to mind his smartass defensive comments, and was patient with him while he learned how to talk. Turned out his insurance with Singer's covered up to two sessions a week. Dean was nothing if not determined, and he had set himself the goal of keeping up with this stupid counselor stuff. Bess had asked her friend at another practice to see Dean the moment she had an opening in her appointment book, "before he lost his nerve."_

_And he felt good today. So when Dr. Anael asked if there was something in particular he wanted to talk about this time, he actually smiled._

_"Yeah. Uh, my brother..."_

_"Sam."_

_"Yeah. He's the smart one in the family." He saw the doctor jot something on her journal, but he ignored it. Instead, he told her about Sam's job, and about how they had become friends with Castiel. He explained the idea of the collaboration between the school and the center. "Last night was the big auction."_

_"How did it go?"_

_"I don't even get art, and it was one of the coolest things I've ever seen."_

When the four of them walked into the gallery, they were overwhelmed by the sight. Charlie had actually squealed, and Dean had laughed at her. He saw Sam's fingers brush Castiel's, and watched Castiel give him a grateful smile.

"Whoa," Charlie remarked. "For a project you two got started and then did absolutely no work for? You look like proud daddies!"

Sam elbowed her for her trouble. She laughed at him, then became distracted by a couple of furry creatures at first table.

"Hey!" Dean cried out. "Don't leave me alone in a place like this!"

Charlie laughed at him and waved as she abandoned him. Sam and Castiel were immediately set upon by teenagers, just as Dean knew they would be. He sighed.

Then there was a hand on his arm. "Hey, old man."

His eyes rolled. "Krissy."

"Come look at the art and shit."

"You make it sound so posh."

"Screw posh. We made a giant rabbit out of shredded right wing propaganda."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, and he looked in earnest at the artwork all around the huge gallery. He had never been to a silent auction before, but he suspected this was the loudest one that had ever existed. There was music he couldn't understand and giggling kids everywhere. There were bottles of sparkling cider on the same trays as the wine circulating around the room by people in gloves. There were strange numbers near all the works of art.

And all the works of art seemed to possess a common theme.

"See?" his young guide pointed out. "This is stuff from Triad. It's all the Bible verses and crap the saints said that shows that not all religious people and their scripture is hateful. It's stuff to show all the major religions, particularly Christianity, are really about loving one another and not being dicks to each other. Cool, huh?"

Dean stared in awe at the various paintings, sculptures and sketches depicting religious events and quotations from the Bible and other texts. He saw one particularly beautiful piece which stated that belief was not cruel and forgiveness was not oppression. "Wait. This was...the Triad contribution?"

"Yup!" she said happily. "And over there is all the St. Benedict stuff."

Dean began to grin. "It's...all rainbow."

"And they're all about how Christians have the responsibility to build bridges and help those who society calls different. It's about redefining love to include all types of people, and redefining sin to include intolerance."

"Wow." Then Dean took another step and found himself in a small crowd surrounding Castiel and Sam. He looked at the enormous mural which was obviously the focal point. "Holy..."

"Is that incredible or what?"

Dean shook his head. It was rare he could be rendered speechless. But he had no idea what to say.

There before them was a life size car, painted in such impressive detail that it could have been the exact one he had worked on himself. This one, too, was covered in black script, but it was not the angry, ugly wording Dean had buried under paint. The words on the mural car were phrases of love and support, expressions of gratitude for a beloved, unnamed teacher, scripture verses filled with encouragement, devotions and prayers of all kinds. "We learn to love from a quiet hero who listens," one line read, and it was the only phrase outlined in brilliant red.

Three boys were staring up at Castiel, awaiting his reaction. One was grinning, another was standing stoic and still, and the last was sniffling pitifully.

"Those are the artists," Krissy said quietly. "Andy did the mural, Jake wrote the words, and the other guy, Max or something, he collected all the things for Jake to write from the other students. Mr. Arch already bought it for permanent display at the school."

Castiel had not taken his eyes from the car in several minutes. Dean suddenly wondered if this might all prove to be too overwhelming for the guy. Most of the crowd was now curiously watching for the teacher's reaction.

At long last, a small smile came over his face, and there was a collective breath of relief from those watching. "Thank you, boys," he said softly. "Thank you."

Everyone began talking at once, and the tension gave over to excitement.

Castiel allowed hugs from Andy and Max, and accepted a hand from serious Jake. "Thank you, boys," he said a third time, and Sam praised the artwork itself.

Dean was still watching when Krissy pulled him along. "There's more?"

"Of course there's more. You haven't even gotten to mine and Ben's section."

"Which is what?"

Krissy lifted her hands to display a third section of works. Her friend Ben grinned and headed toward her to throw his arm around her shoulders. "This is the one we themed 'Animals never ask me my religion or my orientation,'" she laughed.

Dean looked around at all the dogs, cats and rabbits who were surrounding him. There were gorgeous photographs, paintings, sketches, and all sorts of three dimensional works.

Ben spoke up to explain. "This one was the most collaborative part of the project. Each of these was done by pairings of a Triad kid and a Benedict kid. That's Ava and Lily over there, the photography and sketch collection. I think...I think the two of them might be a thing now."

Krissy rolled her eyes. "You think?" she snorted. “I haven’t seen her so wide eyed since I came out as ace. So? What's the older generation’s opinion?"

Dean scowled at her, then smiled. "I think it's pretty amazing. Any idea if it's going to make any money for the dogs?"

A feminine voice behind him spoke up. "The shelter director doesn't want to give too much away, but I can tell you it's going to be close to ten thousand dollars."

He thought he might choke. "Ten grand? How?" He turned to face the woman and found himself speechless for the second time that night.

A brilliant flash of white teeth took his breath away. "Gabriel Arch bid two thousand for that car, just to donate it to the school. It certainly set the mood for the evening. It turns out a lot of proud well-to-do grandparents are happy to reach into their pockets to buy their own kids' artwork."

"Huh. I don't even think my dad kept the keychain I made him in metal shop."

_Dr. Anael scribbled in her notebook again. Dean rolled his eyes and continued his story._

The director laughed brightly, and Dean felt like the whole world suddenly had colors in it he had never noticed before. The most incredible piece of art in the room was standing right there before him. Ben cleared his throat. “Dean, this is my mom Lisa. Mom, this is Sam’s brother Dean. We see him sometimes at the center. He comes in and fixes stuff when it breaks sometimes.”

For no reason whatsoever, the introduction made Dean blush. He was mortified. “I’m, uh…good with my hands.”

Lisa giggled behind her slender fingers.   Dean’s jaw fell. “I mean…I don’t mean…”

Krissy punched him in the arm, then grabbed Ben and hauled him off toward the collection of animals from the shelter.

Charlie appeared from nowhere, and Dean had never been happier to see her. “Deano! Look! I’m going to get a cat for Jo!”

He smiled at her weakly. She was holding up the ugliest, most annoyed yellow tom cat he had ever seen. “Jo is going to hate that.”

She laughed and cuddled the feline. “I know! Isn’t it great? Hi, I’m Charlie.”

Lisa watched her in amusement. “I’m Lisa Braeden. I’m the director for the shelter benefitting from this auction.”

“Oh! Charlie Bradbury, and I promise I’m not adopting a cat just so my girlfriend can hate it. She’s just going to pretend to hate it. We’ll give it a good home. I promise. They checked to see if I was a murderer and everything. I’m not.”

“I believe you.”

“Unlike Dean. He almost shot a Yorkie once.”

Dean’s blush was relentless. “I-I did not! It was…I thought it was…”

“It was a Yorkie, Winchester. There’s no excuse for that.”

“I have kept Sam’s damn dog alive for years now!” he protested.

“Whatever, Deano.”

Lisa turned to him with a smile. “Did you almost shoot a Yorkie?”

He sighed. “I…Yes. But I didn’t. It was…not my best week. And for what it’s worth, I found it a home. He lives with my boss now. A grouchy old man and a mean little dog. They’re a good pair.”

Her laugh bubbled out again, and Dean let out the last of his breath.

Charlie watched him for a moment, then smiled. “You know, Lisa, Dean was a huge supporter of this project. Gave a flier out to every customer he had this past week. And in spite of the near-assassination, he’s actually a really good animal person. Not a bad people person either.”

 “I’m gathering that,” she murmured.

“You know, we’re all going out after this. You should come! Your cute secretary or whatever, Madison, she’s going to come with us. As soon as I assured her I wasn’t hitting on her, she said she’d love to come out for drinks. You have a lot to celebrate, right? I mean, this thing is amazing!”

Dean wanted to strangle Charlie, almost as much as he wanted to hug her.

Lisa was smiling at him when she answered. “It’s a school night. Ben’s got to get home after this. But…I’ll talk to him. If I let him take the car back to the house, I’ll need a ride.”

Charlie nearly cuffed Dean in the back of the head; he could practically hear her eyes rolling in exasperation. “Dean,” she hissed.

“Oh, uh, yes. Yeah, I could definitely…Is it…just you or…I can take two…”

The amusement on Lisa’s face was entirely distracting. “It’s just me,” she assured him.

“Oh,” he responded. He cleared his throat and turned to his friend. “Ch-charlie? That cat is not coming in my car. Go tell Sam he’s going to be taking you back to your apartment before drinks.”

She gave him one of her smug, tightlipped smiles that told him she was trying not to laugh at him. “Sure, Dean.”

Lisa laughed quietly. “Come find me a little later. I need to get back to work here.”

Charlie had to lead him away. The cat seemed to be rolling its eyes too. Once they were clear of earshot, Charlie slugged him in the shoulder, exactly where Krissy had just hit him. “You’re a mess, Winchester.”

“I know. Look, I gotta go wash my hands. Get that cat away from me. I’ll be sneezing all night. Go check on Cas, okay? Make sure he’s not surrounded by more love than he wants.”

It was as he was in the men’s lounge-and seriously, what kind of place had a men’s lounge instead of just a restroom?-washing his hands and trying not to look in the mirror, that he overheard the conversation that was taking place on the little couches. The two men were so absorbed in one another that they seemed to take no notice of Dean.

“You did a really great thing here. I’m…I’m not one to admit when I’ve been wrong. I should. I was wrong about this project. It was really great.”

“Luke, do you think you could smile when you say that? Like you’re actually happy it went well?”

 The man who worked with his brother sighed heavily. “Of course I’m glad it went well. It’s just that this whole thing has…has made me think about us a lot lately. And I know I’ve been bitter, really freaking bitter. All those years ago, I let my hatred for Michael overshadow my love for you, and that wasn’t right.”

“No. It was really shitty, as a matter of fact. “

The blond man nodded slowly. “I know it’s too late now. But I needed to say that I’m sorry.”

“That you stabbed me in the heart? It’s cool. Bygones.”

“Gabriel, you colossal prick, I’m trying to apologize. Can you just…not be you for five minutes?”

The other man laughed in a way that made Dean think he was not laughing at all. “No, Luke. I can’t not be me. Back then, that was your opportunity for me to not be me. That was your chance to make me into anything you wanted me to be. Because I would have been absolutely anything for you. You were my first love, Luke. You’ll always be that. And I hope we can work together on projects in the community now. I’d even like to get a beer with you one day. I’ll buy. But I’m not a kid anymore, Luke, and I know that even now, you’re more interested in how pissed off Michael is about this event than you are happy about its success.”

“That’s not…Gabe, it doesn’t have to be too late, you know?”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. But it is. Because I say it is. My heart mended a long time ago, but you’re still the same dick that broke it. Some people don’t grow up, Luke. You and Michael…you can let that hatred keep you both warm at night. I’ve moved on. In fact, the board just hired a really hot Headmaster named Kali, and I think I’d like to go ask her if she’d like a private tour of the gallery.”

The other man shook his head and stood. “You’ll be sorry, Gabe,” he said with loathing in his voice.

“I already have been, Luke. For years. I just want this to be over. I wish you well.”

The taller man stormed from the room alone.

Dean dried his hands, and stepped out from behind the wall just in time to see the other man break into a sob. He frowned and approached, startling him. “Hey, hey. Look, I’m sorry. I could see you from the mirror, the angle…You okay, man?”

The whiskey eyes were still full of heartbreak as he laughed. “Oh, good. I had an audience. Hate to have wasted such a stunning performance. Luke’s got no appreciation for theatre.”

He sighed and sat awkwardly on the opposite couch. He couldn’t touch any part of it with his skin, of course, so he kept his clean hands in his lap. “You okay?” he asked again.

The sob caught in Gabriel’s throat, but he nodded. “Sure. Just the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, something I pictured myself doing for years, rehearsed in my head for years. I knew one day Luke would say we could try again, and I knew I’d have to say no. Years of preparation just doesn’t help when it comes down to it.”

Dean nodded at him. “For what it’s worth, I…I thought you did great. You kept your cool, and made it clear.”

A genuine smile came over the man’s face then, the first one Dean had witnessed. “Thank you. I’ve been a coward for years. I’m not…not used to facing things instead of running from them. Like my family. And Luke. When Castiel Spanner called me about this project…something just kind of…flipped a switch in my head, you know? I knew it was time to stand up. Didn’t mean it wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Standing up to Michael. Standing up to Luke. Even Father Raphael is practically family.” He took a deep breath. “So? I’m even more alone than I’ve ever been, but at least it’s for a good cause, right?” he sighed bitterly.

“I’m Dean Winchester. My brother is Sam. And I think you’re not a coward at all. I was the peacemaker in my family for a long time too. And I had to choose a side. I chose my brother. I still…I still do what I can for my dad, but I’m Team Sam.”

Gabriel’s chuckle encouraged him. “I’m Team Sam too. He’s a good guy.” Then the wicked sparkle came back into the whiskey eyes. “I’m Team Sastiel. Did you see those two out there? Spanner is falling hard for your brother, man.”

“Yeah, I noticed. It’d be cute if it weren’t my kid brother. What did you say? Sastiel? What the crap is that?”

The other man laughed. He stood and smacked Dean on the same shoulder. “You’re a good guy too, Dean,” he said. “Come on. I got a Headmaster to hit on.”

“This one’s a chick, right?”

The man’s eyebrows wiggled at him. “This one is a goddess.”

Dean practically slammed into Castiel on his way out. He gave Gabriel a nod, and watched him put on a mask of confidence to approach a beautiful woman who Dean suspected would make every student sit up straighter just by being in their presence.

“Cas. Hey, man. You okay?”

“Yes, of course.” The older man was a little pale, but his smile seemed easy enough. “I was looking for you. Charlie said…she said you told her you needed to go wash your hands. That was a while ago. Just checking on you.”

“I’m fine. It gets…sometimes it’s…”

“Overwhelming. I know.”

He cringed, and snorted softly. “Yeah. I guess you do.” He jutted his chin toward a pair off to themselves in the lobby. “Isn’t that one of your car artists?”

Castiel’s eyes brightened suddenly. “That’s Max,” he whispered. “He’s been asked to be something of a student liaison for our new priest.”

“That guy is a priest?”

Amusement shone in the blue eyes. “The black and the collar didn’t give it away?”

“He’s like twelve.”

“He’s just a few years younger than your brother.”

“He’s twelve.”

Castiel laughed. “His name is Father Samandriel.”

“Is that a first or a last name?”

The blue eyes narrowed suddenly. “Hm. I don’t know. I’ll ask Adam, our new secretary in the morning. In any case, he gave a homily this morning at the school, and to say it was a breath of fresh air would be a major understatement. The kid has nothing but love for the world and everyone in it. If he weren’t a priest, I’d swear he were an angel.”

“Heaven’s most adorable angel, come down to preach to a bunch of private school kids. Huh. Your artist kid seems to like him.”

Fondness played on Castiel’s face as he watched. “I think he’s got a new hero,” he muttered. “It makes me…very happy.”

Sam sauntered toward the two of them, his arm resting heavily on Charlie’s shoulders. The cat looked even more annoyed. He and Dean glowered at one another suspiciously. “Hey. Cas, you’ll never guess what I found.”

Dean snickered. “I can guess. You found the wine.”

“Mead,” he corrected with a grin. “I found mead.”

Castiel sighed. “Since it appears that I’ll be driving later anyway, why don’t you let me slip out and take Charlie’s cat back to her apartment? I could use the quiet. Then we’ll join you again in…in a few…in just a little…” 

All three of them turned to stare at Castiel as he seemed to suffer from brain stall. Then they followed his gaze toward the first table near the entrance. Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged in response to his silent question.

The teacher took a deep breath through his nose, and he took on a look of pure determination. Without a word, he marched through the crowd to where Charlie’s new friend Madison was cheerfully chatting with several people. The three friends behind him followed at what they deemed a safe distance.

Madison grinned at him. “Dr. Cas! Hey! Have you heard the latest projected total? This is amazing!”

Castiel licked his lips and seemed to be steeling his resolve. “Madison, I’d like to inquire about that one.”

She blinked at him. “Inquire? About Enocho? You know Enocho.”

“But has anyone else…Has he been…”

“If you’re trying to ask me if he’s been adopted, no. I’m starting to think the little guy is going to be a permanent shelter mascot.”

Castiel took another deep breath. “I want him.”

A slow smile came over her face. “No way.”

“Why not?” Castiel’s offended frown seemed to cover his entire body. “I could provide an excellent environment for him. I will be able to give him whatever care he requires. You know yourself that I’m very good with animals. While I don’t have experience with cavies in particular, I am a quick study, and I will devote-"

A peal of laughter cut through his words. “Cas! Not no way, you can’t have him! No way, like I can’t believe you’re finally going to take him home! We’ve been calling him Dr. Cas’s guinea pig for like a month now!”

A flush filled his pale features, as he tried to regain some of his previous demeanor. “Oh. I don’t…Yes, well, what is it I need to do? To take him?”

“Just fill out the form. I’ll be your character reference myself. As far as I’m concerned, you can have him right now, as long as you promise not to let that mean, ugly thing she’s holding eat him.”

Charlie snuggled her cat, and assured him that he was not mean or ugly.

“I would never allow that,” Castiel said in a deathly serious tone.

While Charlie was talking Castiel through the paperwork required in taking on a new family member, Dean turned to his brother. “That guy is something else entirely.”

Sam was beaming. “Isn’t he?”

The glassy look of worship on his brother’s face made Dean feel a little ill, but he nodded. “Sammy, I’m proud of you. Okay? This? This is not the same town we moved to when you graduated. A few years back, this would never have been possible.”

The younger man looked down at him in surprise. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think we’ve come a long way in a short time.”

“You know, I always wondered why you were happy living in a place like this. Why you weren’t off in San Francisco or D.C. or Baltimore or someplace. Even Kansas City. But I get it now. Those places have plenty of smart guys fighting for progress, fighting the big battles. Here, it’s quieter, and folks like Cas or these kids, they just get…pushed aside or bullied without mercy, and nobody knows how to help them, if they even want to. You can do a lot of good for a lot of individuals in a place like this. You were always so smart, and I thought, what’s he doing wasting his time here when he could be a big shot someplace like New York or Chicago? I kind of…sometimes I worried you might be here because…because you think I need you to be. Or because Dad is close. And now I get it. You’re exactly where you can do the most good for the people who need you. You’re right where you should be.”

Sam basked in the praise just as he did when he was a child. That crooked smile and those wide eyes were the most important things in the world to Dean, then and now. He had never found it easy to express how proud of Sam he was. He could not remember anyone ever seeming proud of him.

_Dr. Anael was writing again. He ignored it._

He was glad he said something this time. He was equally glad when Castiel and Charlie reappeared, each cradling a furry creature of which they had assumed custody. Castiel had a small cage in one hand, and the guinea pig in his other, and he was holding it as though it were the most precious of all God’s creatures. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m so glad we introduced you two,” he sighed.

Charlie grinned.

_“And what about the woman you met? Lisa?”_

_Dean looked up. “What?”_

_Dr. Anael was watching him. “Did you take her out last night?”_

_“Yeah, I…” He smiled as a blush crept up on his face. “Yeah, we went out. And…I think I’m going to see her again tomorrow night.”_

_The doctor nodded. “I see. How are you feeling about that?”_

_Dean licked his lips quietly. “It’s a little scary,” he breathed. He was certain he had never said those words to someone aloud before. Probably not even to Sam. “I’ll probably freak out and make a run for it somewhere around appetizers, and spend the rest of the night scrubbing myself raw in the shower.”_

_“She sounds like quite a woman to make you take a chance like this. When was the last time you took a chance?”_

_He struggled to take a breath. “If Cas can do it, I can do it. If Gabriel Arch can put the past behind him and take another risk, so can I. If Sammy can keep putting his heart out there, I can too. If those kids can take risks folks in this town wouldn’t have dreamed of a generation ago, I can do this. Hell, if that rodent Cas took in can get a second chance, there’s got to be someone willing to take me home, right?”_

_Dr. Anael smiled kindly. “I’m certain of it.”_

_Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready to try. It’s something, right?”_

_“It is, Dean.”_

_He sat back in the chair and smiled to himself._


	31. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time later...

Old Bonesy seemed to like his new room. He had a large bed that took up most of the space, where he slept with his tattered old rabbit toy, and he even seemed to like sharing the space with the noisy little guinea pig who worked on his nest all night and day, inside the large pen which sat up on the table. Bonesy watched him and chuffed when he got too noisy, and Enocho chirped back companionably. They were good roommates. Sam was glad Bones had a friend to keep him company during the day while he and Castiel were at work. He had wondered how the two would get along, and was pleased to see that Enocho was not afraid, considering all the months he had spent in the shelter with other animals, and Bonesy seemed content watching the little guy do his thing. 

"How do you live in a place for two years and not use all the rooms?"

Castiel watched his lover adjust the angle of his desk and file cabinet. He was looking a little pale. "I don't own much," he responded quietly. 

"Obviously. If a book moth ate your collection, there'd be nothing in the house but your bed and your coat."

"I don't think there is such a thing."

Sam stood back and sighed, wiping the sweat from his throat with the tee shirt he had pulled off. "Lisa talked Dean into another dog, you know."

"Yes. A German shepherd. They're calling it The Colonel, though they couldn't explain why."

"I think it's a television reference or something."

"That would explain why I don't understand."

When Sam glanced at him, he found Castiel biting his lower lip. "Hey," he murmured. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine. I...I will need some time to adjust."

Sam smiled at him and took his hand. "Cas, this is what you wanted, right? I've still got the apartment through next week. There's plenty of time to lease for another few months if I want to. Just say the word."

"No," the older man said stubbornly. "It is what I want. Still, I haven't lived with anyone since...well, since the service. And even then I tended to have my own room, small though it was. I never felt comfortable sharing a room with another man, especially since I was closeted. I didn't feel like it was right somehow. So I lived in a studio apartment in college. It's been since I was a teenager that I lived in a house with other people in it. And even then, I was...very much alone."

He pulled Castiel back into the living room, out of the small space Sam would use as an office. He knew Castiel would feel better surrounded by his own, familiar things. "You can still be alone anytime you need to be. That's why we're setting up two offices. I'm putting mine in what's meant to be the guest room because I can use that walk-in closet for Bones and Enocho. It's perfect for them. You're using the den space because it's mostly soundproof, and you can get away from the three of us anytime you need to breathe. Right?"

Castiel nodded. "It's a good plan."

"And we put the pullout chair in there so you can even sleep in there if you want to. Right? So even if I'm asleep in the bed, and you feel overwhelmed, you can close your office door and be alone. I'll understand."

More nodding. "Yes, Sam."

He smiled and bent to kiss his lips softly. "I love you. We're going to figure this out. If you feel like it isn't working, we talk about me moving back out. I'll shack up with Dean or something for a while. It's going to be fine."

"I love you too, Sam." The blue eyes were sparkling with a dozen emotions at once. "I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think we could make it work. If I didn't think you would be patient with me."

Sam lowered them to the couch. His body appreciated the break from lifting furniture and boxes. "How are you feeling about us in general?"

Castiel lowered his eyes to gaze at their joined hands. "I went to confession with Father Samandriel yesterday. He's very kind. He's...one of the good ones. I told him about what happened to Balt, what I'd promised him and God, and what I promised you about trying to move on."

"What did he say?" Sam whispered. 

"He...he said that if we never needed to ask for forgiveness, there was no point in religion at all. That God doesn't need us to show Him our best selves, because He created our potential personally. That's why He wants to see our scars, our blemishes, our sins. Because He wants us to acknowledge them so we can be redeemed. Acknowledging weakness is the only means of gaining strength."

Sam nodded. He wasn't sure he understood, but it was important to Castiel, so he tried. 

"He said when we give ourselves impossible tasks, we are dooming ourselves to failure. He thinks I made those promises so that I could ensure my own failure. So I could punish myself for still being alive."

A stab of icy pain struck Sam. It was horrible to think that Castiel could seek punishment for having survived a miserable event. 

"He said it isn't possible to deny myself everything which would bring me pleasure, not without turning myself into something God would never want me to be. That self-denial is virtuous only to the extent that it leaves us human and humbled, not desperate and starved."

"I hope you agreed."

"I'm so far past desirous, Sam," he breathed. "It's frightening to me how much I want you. How much I crave you all the time. I mastered total denial because giving in even a touch opens such an unacceptable, reprehensible floodgate. The Father just smiled when I said it. He doesn't understand. If I'm not in total control, I lose control totally. I'll gorge on you if you let me. I can't help it. I tried. I want so much. It scares me how much."

Sam placed his hands on either side of Castiel's face. "My love, you're not taking something from Balt when you let me love you. And you aren't taking from me when I let you touch me. It doesn't work that way, not for us. You aren't taking. I'm giving. If you can forgive yourself for wanting it and accept that you like what I'm offering, we will live a beautiful life together that would honor Balt's sacrifice and please your God."

"I'd like to see it that way," he whispered. "Please keep reminding me to see it that way."

"This is going to take time. Thanks to Balt, you have that. Your priest thinks you should allow yourself to feel things God meant for you to feel. And I'm crazy in love with you, and I think you're exactly the person I want enjoying me."

Castiel leaned in to kiss him happily. "Sam, you are one of the most beautiful things He ever created. It would be wrong not to adore you."

Sam wrapped his arms around his lover, and lay back on the couch. They stayed like that until the windows grew dark and the last of the worries of the day faded out, leaving behind only a respectful, content quiet breathing around them.


	32. June 26, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this day, the United States Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land. That deserves a bonus chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband and I celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary today, on June 26th, 2015. We could not ask for a better gift than the recognition that love is love and it is for everyone.

Six Years Later...  
On June 26, 2015...

When the phone rang on Friday morning, Sam groaned. What was the point of having Fridays off in the summer months if he couldn't sleep all day?

His lover put his book down on the side table. "I know what you're thinking, and it isn't that early."

"Is it noon?"

"No. It's nine."

"In the morning?"

Castiel laughed and took hold of Sam's phone. He frowned a bit. "It's Andy." He tapped on the phone while clearing his throat.

Sam blinked up at him.

"Hello?"

He could hear the young man on the other end of the line chattering excitedly. He sighed. "If he needs help with a brief for his classes..." Then Sam blinked again. Consciousness washed over him then. Andy had graduated from law school last month. He was in the Capitol now, interning at...

Castiel's reading glasses were removed with shaking hands. "Is that...is that the final word? Is that...it?"

There was laughter and more breathless chatter. Sam's heart leapt to his throat, and he dove off the bed for his laptop. June 26th. Why else would Andy call so excited?

"No, he is. He's right here." Castiel looked up at Sam tripping over the mess on his side of the room to get to his computer. He smiled as Sam groaned in frustration when his computer indicated it needed to do a maintenance update before allowing him onto his desktop. "Sam?"

"Andy!" he shouted. "What-what? What's the majority?"

Castiel sighed quietly. "He says he expects an invitation." Tears sparkled in the older man's blue eyes.

Sam's chest tightened with emotion. He flew back onto the bed and attacked his lover in a hug.

"Ouch! Get off me!" Castiel laughed, fighting off Sam's hands and weight. "Andy? Are you there?" He tapped on the speaker phone option.

"I'm here, Doc! But I gotta go! The runners are gone, the announcement made...It's been a good morning."

"Andy, you're an angel!" Sam called from inside Castiel's neck.

Andy laughed. "I'm just an intern, Mr. Winchester! I'm not a justice yet. But I'm working on it."

"I know you are, man."

"You and Doc were my first call, but I want to send Ava a text before I gotta get back. President's gonna speak soon, and stuff is exploding all over the Capitol. Okay, send me an invitation! I can't wait!"

"Goodbye, Andy. Thank you for thinking of us," Castiel said with kind sincerity.

"You got it, Doc. Thanks for always thinking of all of _us_ all these years. Congratulations on our win."

The blue eyes closed, and tears squeezed out. "Congratulations, Andy. Give our love to your wife."

"Claire sends you hers. Gotta go!"

Sam grabbed the phone as soon as he heard the click, and tossed it to the side. "It's about to go off with a hundred texts from the gang. Right now, I just want it to be us."

Castiel's chest quaked. "I can't...I didn't think...I didn't think I'd get so emotional over this." He turned his head with embarrassment reddening his face. "I mean, it isn't something you and I need. I just...I think about all those kids who..."

Sam's heart swelled with love for this man. In six years, he had never learned to ask for anything for himself, never learned that he deserved more. Every time a victory came in the fight, Castiel focused on how things would improve for Sam and Charlie and Jo, and how the next generation would benefit. The man lived every day for others.

And he might say it was something the two of them didn't need, and that was true. But it was something he knew from day one that Castiel wanted.

Friends had suggested a ceremony dozens of times. Dean had admitted he and Lisa waited years after they were ready, because it didn't seem right to them that they could marry but Sam and Castiel could not. Sam had told his brother that the point was not to prevent other marriages. He and Castiel wanted them to be happy too. Finally, Dean had given in, and he and Lisa had been married nearly a year now. Castiel had stood as a groomsman for Dean, and Sam was his best man. But partway through the service, he had caught his lover's eyes, and where only pride and delight had been all day long, Sam found pain and grief there on Castiel's face. It was gone the second he caught Sam looking, and it was replaced by a quiet handsome smile that lasted the rest of the day and night, but Sam had seen it.

He had asked Castiel about a ceremony once, but he had simply kissed him and shaken his head, and that was the end of it. They had attended Charlie's with Jo, and had been entirely supportive, but somehow, Sam knew that would never be enough for Castiel. So he had tried again, suggesting that they consider moving elsewhere, someplace they could make it legal. Again, Castiel had kissed him, thanked him, and said no.

Now he looked down at the man and drank in the relief and sentiment pouring from him. He kissed him softly. "Of course you're emotional, my love. So am I."

Castiel licked his trembling lips. "It shouldn't matter. But it does. It really...it just does."

"Of course it matters," he soothed. "This is a battle we've been fighting for generations, Cas. The fourteenth amendment was key. This is about so much more than a wedding. This is citizenship. This is about families being legitimized! This is about me having visitation rights if you're in the hospital, about us buying a home together and having a child. Things we should be able to do just because we're human, but have had to fight for every step of the way. This is about me not having to testify against you in court, about me having a right to your military records and pension, about you being able to make me your beneficiary. This is about you not worrying about losing your job because you live with a man you love. This is about you and me being considered family under the law."

Castiel nodded, wiping at his tears. "I know."

"Cas, you know the part that always bothered me the most? If I were in an accident, my brother or Lisa or Ben could stay in a hospital with me overnight, but you'd have to fight for that at most medical facilities. My step-nephew could stay but not the man who should be my husband."

"I'm your power of attorney, aren't I?"

"Sort of. But even that's complicated. Cas...for just a minute? Don't worry about how this will benefit our students or Charlie and Jo or anybody else. Let's just think of us for a minute."

His trembling hands touched Sam's hair. "I love you so much, Sam."

Sam smiled at him warmly. He kissed his lips as softly as he could. "Will you marry me, Castiel?"

The next kiss was salty with tears. "Sam..." A sob broke out, then a laugh followed almost as quickly. Castiel rolled his lover so that he was atop him instead. "My God, Sam, yes. Yes, yes, Sam, yes." He covered him in kisses, until they were both breathless with laughter and love. Every kiss was punctuated with a "Yes, Sam."

In the middle of it, Sam could hear both phones begin buzzing unceasingly, with calls and emails and texts from their friends and Sam's family. Later, they would respond to each one while lying in a heap on the living room floor, and then they would hit Purgatory with all the others for a celebration and their announcement.

But for now, all that existed in this brave new world was Sam and Castiel, and their love for one another, their kisses, and their total devotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who fought for generations for this ruling, for everyone who is still fighting-because this is the beginning and not the end. And congratulations to us all on a victory for love and humanity.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are what keep me writing!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
